Dismantling the Cage
by Fiorea
Summary: A research project becomes the basis for a meeting of minds. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape join forces not only to quench their thirst for knowledge, but also to reform wizarding conventions and defeat the Dark Lord. Of wizards and a Muggleborn AU
1. Prologue

**Dismantling the Cage **

**Summary:** A research project becomes the foundation for a meeting of clashing minds. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape join forces not only to quench their thirst for knowledge, but also to reform wizarding conventions and defeat the Dark Lord. A tale of wizards and a Muggleborn. AU after 5th

**Genre:** Drama & Romance

**Pairing:** Hermione Granger/Severus Snape

**Rating:** M

* * *

><p><strong><span>Prologue<span> **

Hermione stood there, arm raised, frozen inches from the door, fingers curled into a fist. Her palm was sweating, the bag slung over her shoulder seemed to drag her down, and her knees couldn't decide if they wanted to lock in place or collapse. What she was about to do must be the most frightening thing in her life. Her mind supplied an image of her boggart shouting that she had failed. This situation was definitely worse than that, she decided, and her new boggart would most likely be a combination of that _and _this, her failure to face down Snape. _Failure._

She needed to succeed.

She started to doubt herself and the validity of the idea. She could find another way to advance her research. There was no reason why she had to suffer Snape and for Snape to suffer her. But then, she remembered that there was no alternative. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and dusty abandoned classrooms were certainly not ideal places to brew potions. And this was much bigger than just herself.

Hermione braced herself. She could feel her face paling and her heart racing. She was going to do it. Now...

And then she spun around to flee. She could retreat and regroup and try again; perseverance was a Griffindor trait. She could go back and put together a better approach again; being prepared was a Hermione trait. She would face this door tomorrow once she formed an even better game plan. Again.

Sighing, she turned back around to face the door. Third time is the charm, she thought to herself. This time, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _I have one chance, and I must not fail._ As her shoulders straightened, she snapped open her eyes and raised her arm. _This was it._ Her fist rushed down to hit the door.

Suddenly the door was missing, flung open, and Professor Snape was standing there in all his black billowing robes and sneering glory.

"Miss Granger! What do you think you are doing?" He barked.

Hermione jumped and couldn't suppress a tiny squeak.

"Sir. I'm here to see you," She managed to choke out. All her intelligence and planning had abandoned her.

All she could think was _failure_.

"I can see that," Snape said icily. "Why have you been standing in front of my door for the last twenty minutes? Yesterday, as well, and the day before."

Hermione took a shallow, stuttered breath and quickly reassembled what was left of her brain. A tiny, tiny corner of her mind wondered how he knew, but that notion disappeared as she took another glance at Snape.

"I'm here to ask whether I could use the potions classroom for independent study," The words tumbled out, "…sir." She managed to sound more coherent than she had expected.

"What?"

"I would like your permission to use the classroom to further my study of potions. I am looking for a contained area. A stable, undisturbed work space. And access to tools. Just a small corner after classes for a short while. I won't disturb you and I'll keep it clean."

"Miss Granger!" Snape cut her short. "Cease your babbling."

"Yes, sir..."

"Enter," He snarled and turned around.

Hermione followed him into the classroom to awkwardly stand in front of his desk, looking everywhere except at Snape as he sat down. She shifted nervously as he glared.

"You are saying that you want to spend more time in this classroom, to irritate me further with your insufferable presence, and to waste my time just so you can further prove you are a know-it-all?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but snapped it shut at Snape's cutting glare and lowered her eyes mutely. The textured floor of the dungeons was beginning to look quite fascinating.

_Failure_.

The silence dragged on. And on. She didn't dare to look up. She could imagine his scowling face, his sharp black eyes staring down over his hooked nose even though his head was at a lower position than hers. Hermione's fingers began to twitch. Her calf began to itch. Even her hair felt like it was frizzing. She couldn't tell how long she had been standing there in the silence. Was Snape still even there?

She finally gathered enough courage to slowly raise her head.

"Very well. I want a proposal on my desk by Monday."

Hermione snapped up her head and gaped."Sir?"

"Don't make me repeat myself," Snape bit out. "Your report will determine my verdict. It better not be a waste of my time. Now get out of my sight!"

Hermione took a moment to collect herself and fled the room.

_Success._

* * *

><p><em>AN: _It's my first time writing._ What do you think?_

_Sat, Jan 14, 2012_


	2. Plans Ahead

**Plans Ahead**

There was no doubt about it; Granger was up to something. Severus couldn't imagine any other reason for her to approach him. She should be terrified of him. He had made sure of it! Recalling what happened several minutes ago, it was obvious that she was more than terrified. For a very brief moment, he couldn't help but savor the bit of amusement; those moments were few and far between these days. Maybe that was why he had heard her out. Then he snapped back to the pesky issue.

There was something strange about her. He had rarely given her much thought outside of the classroom in the last five years. Well, except for times when Potter leaped into trouble. Granger and Weasley were usually nearby and deeply involved, which meant she was a trouble magnet as well.

It was impossible to ignore her during lessons, with her incessant hand-waving and blatantly sneaking instructions to Longbottom, but otherwise he barely knew her; in his profession as a spy, relying on preconceived stereotypes was often dangerous.

From what he had seen and heard of Granger, she was nothing spectacular other than her spectacularly bad taste in friends and ridiculously long essays he always dreaded to grade. Usually after about a month into the year, he would get sick of reading her essays; he had created a grading system just for her, where he skimmed for key words, checked the length of the paper, took off points for exceeding requirements and being annoying in general, and wrote some nasty generic comment at the end. Not very fair, but it worked.

Looking back, Granger's name had popped up quite often in the staffroom. Minerva and the others constantly sang her praises, but he tended to tune out such drivel. What had him confused was that the girl he had spoken with today didn't seem like someone who'd consistently cause trouble, especially not one who attacked a troll in her first year. He seemed to recall a much more outspoken, stubborn girl. Either being injured at the Department of Mysteries had taught her a lesson, or she was up to something.

Severus decided one evening in the staffroom should inform him enough about her. There was no need to waste any more effort into this.

With a scrape of the chair, he stood and walked across the classroom to the orange, oozing puddles in the back. Now harmless but disgusting. That idiot Fifth Year spilled an entire bag of scurvy-grass into his Befuddlement Draught. The explosion had caught seven other students around him, who all had to be sent to the hospital wing (but probably ended up somewhere else in their confusion). They were Poppy's problem now.

As he vanished the mess, he couldn't help but wonder what classes would be like if there was a Granger in each.

No, that would just cause more headaches. She would no doubt get up to something, even without Potter and his sidekick.

After a quick glance around the room, he stalked out of the dungeons to see about replacing his lost stock.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Severus slumped back in the only comfortable armchair within his bare quarters. Nothing seemed to happen in his favor today. The explosion, Granger, a fight in the corridors which resulted in singed robes, the greenhouses were out of scurvy-grass, and this just had to be the day Granger wasn't mentioned in the staffroom.<p>

He hoped the list ended with these incidents, but there were still several hours remaining in the day; luck had never been on his side.

He tilted his head back and slipped his eyes shut with a sigh. He direly needed to rest his mind. Occlumency only went so far, and he had been Occluding his exhaustion and pain for days now. He was busier now than ever, complying with the Dark Lord's demands which had become more frequent and dangerous and devising ways for the Order to promptly react against those demands took up all his time. This quiet moment of peace was a luxury he rarely had the chance to enjoy. He now just needed to manage one to two hours of undisturbed sleep to regain his balance for tomorrow.

Just as he began to calm, he hissed and clutched his forearm in pain.

"This is what I had forgotten to add to the list. A Friday night gossip party with the Dark Lord," Severus thought bitterly. There would be no sleep tonight; nightmares of blood always followed each meeting.

Stumbling over to the fireplace with a pinch of floo powder, he called out. "Albus, I am going out for a nighttime stroll…"

* * *

><p>Hermione, on the other hand, felt elated and couldn't wait to celebrate.<p>

And celebrate she did – in the library.

She sat at her self-proclaimed desk in the library and cheerfully sorted through her plans. The first step was done. She had braved the monster that is Snape and was granted a chance to prove her case. She wondered, in good humor, what it was that had worked.

Had he acknowledged her potential growth in potions? Probably not.

Had he remembered that her know-it-all reputation meant she had a somewhat functioning brain between her ears? Maybe.

Was it her courage to request what no other Griffindor had in the past, which was to study under the dreadful man? Mmm…definitely not.

Then was it pity and amusement for her timidity? That would be a laugh.

Or it could be a combination of all four with a touch of curiosity. She would never find out, but that wasn't important; what was important was that she achieved her goal. It had been rather embarrassing to act harmless and frightened, but that was necessary. She needed to be viewed as a diligent, rule-abiding Hermione Granger.

The next step was what she was most worried about: writing the proposal. She may have acquired a hearing, but she now had to win his cooperation. Hermione was quite confident about the contents of her study, but what troubled her was how to express it on parchment. She mustn't be too specific since that would constrain her, but she needed a sufficient bait to catch his eye. Furthermore, she couldn't fathom what Snape considered a worthy piece of writing. In the past, she had written lengthy essays, detailed essays, messily written essays, essays measuring the exact length requirement, and even essays that resembled Harry and Ron's! He seemed to hate them all.

For the next hour, Hermione mused and scribbled. She already had piles of notes merely developing her project. Now a new pile was accumulating entirely for this infuriating proposal.

Earlier, she had also scoured research archives and journals for samples of professional proposals. She found too many different templates which only served to increase her confusion.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the table. "Oi, Hermione, you missed dinner again."

Ron stood in front of her, looking uncomfortable as he always did in the library. He obviously wasn't fond of books, and maybe he could tell that the books weren't fond of him either. The last one he tried to read, 'Transfiguration for the Tranquil Mind', had refused to open for him.

"Already...?"

"We picked up some food for you. Harry's already in the common room, probably fending off Seamus and Dean. I've been sent to lure you out of the library."

Hermione's eyes dropped back down absently. "Yes yes...give me a moment. I've just thought of a new idea. I'll leave after I write it down. You should head up first..."

Ron grinned and tugged on the parchment. "We knew you'd say that, and we all know you'll just get lost in your thoughts again. I've got orders not to leave without you."

"Ron..."

"Come on, before books start attacking me."

"That was one book, Ron..." she mumbled, not looking up.

"I'm sure it's representing all books. I picked the most innocent-looking one, and even _it_ rejected me. How am I supposed to get along with the rest of them if they don't want to get along with me?" He continued, as if trying to distract himself from his surroundings. However, the only thing it accomplished was to distract Hermione.

"Ron, hush! Let me write this down first and we can get you out of here," Hermione said in exasperation. "The more you distract me, the longer this is going to take."

He frowned but decided it was more prudent to keep quiet and sat down to wait. After several minutes, he started to fidget.

"Hermione...?"

"Earth to Hermone..."

"Please...?"

"Oh fine. I'm done," She rolled her eyes and stretched her arms as she stood. "Help me clean up."

"Thank Merlin, I was starting to feel claustrophobic."

Hermione let out a snort.

After a bit of shuffling and stuffing, she shoved several books over to Ron. "Take these. You're the one who wanted me to leave early so you get to carry what I haven't finished."

Ron grabbed them gladly and they left the library with a glare from Madam Pince.

"I swear she hates me even more since she found out about that bloody book," He whispered as they walked to the tower.

"I know you're disappointed, but there are plenty of other books in the library that will take to you," Hermione said with a straight face. "I'll help you find a few tomorrow."

Before she could continue, Ron sped up his pace. "That's alright. You've got enough to worry about with whatever it is you're doing. Don't mind me," Ron replied in horror.

Hermione snickered. "Next week then?"

"Really, Hermione, we should hurry if you want more than crumbs for dinner. We can talk about this never," He answered hastily. "Next time, Harry's picking you up."

She trotted behind him, smirking, "You're going to have to learn transfiguration somehow."

"That's what I've got you for."

* * *

><p>The next afternoon, Harry and Ron found Hermione in the library again.<p>

"Hermione," Harry said impatiently, "It's Hogsmeade weekend. Are you free?"

"Mmm"

"Hermione? Are you listening?" Ron repeated, glancing at Harry with a raised eyebrow. She seemed more lost in thought than usual. Typically, she would give a more eloquent reply.

"Mmm…?"

"You were in here all afternoon yesterday," He reminded her firmly.

"In a moment," She mumbled and crossed out several lines on the parchment and jotted down another few lines.

"You really should take a break. You need to get some sun once in a while."

Another rapid scribble, and she finally looked up. "What is it with you two dragging me out of the library?" Hermione huffed, "It's been twice in two days."

"We need your help with something important," Harry whispered with a glint in his eyes. "You see, we've thought of something but it has a glitch that we can't solve without you."

"And what is that 'something'?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"We can't talk about it until we're out of the castle. It's too risky to be overheard," Hermione now knew it wasn't just about school and felt herself tense. From past experiences, she knew it was better to be involved than to let the boys run free since the plans were usually dangerous.

"Alright, Arithmancy can wait. And just to let you know, I get plenty of sunlight during Herbology!"

The boys grinned triumphantly.

Strolling down the path, Hermione asked, "So what are you two up to?"

"We need to come up with a way to get information on the Order. They don't say anything but something's going on. I've seen Remus visiting the castle. We're certain he's giving Dumbledore updates from the Order, but we're stuck in this stupid castle again with nobody telling us anything. We have to find a way to collect information," Harry explained quietly, looking around inconspicuously to check for anyone within hearing distance.

"I haven't seen anyone else from the Order, so he has to be the one passing the information. We think the best way would be to get it straight from him," He lowered his voice even more.

"If either of us brings it up, they'll think we're planning something. You, on the other hand, you come off as being serious, and trustworthy, and always getting us out of trouble, so if you talk to him he might let something slip," Ron continued. They shuffled closer with Hermione in the middle as if to hide in their own secret world.

"I'm certain this is a bad idea. Not 'I think' but 'I'm certain'," Hermione said carefully. She could imagine so many things going wrong if they continued down this line of thought. "You know they deal with sensitive information. If they don't want us to know, it's probably because we can't do anything about it or it's too dangerous.

"But if it's dangerous, we need to know about it to avoid it!" Harry cried in frustration.

"Did you also consider that he could be visiting for something completely unrelated? They might be using the floo to travel between for Order business. Wouldn't that be much more secure for the bearer and the information?"

Harry's face became pinched. He hadn't considered the use of the floo network at all until she pointed it out. He admitted they had been too caught up on Remus's appearances to put in any further thought besides attacking the problem directly. They had been so sure of their assumption.

However, it now bothered him that they had told Hermione. He knew they needed her, they always did, but she could potentially be an obstacle to their plan if she decided not to take part.

He finally continued darkly, "We still need to know what's happening and Remus is the only chance we've got right now. Dumbledore's not going to say anything. He'll just give us cryptic riddles and run rings around us. We can't have things turning out like last year," His eyes looked haunted, obviously thinking about Sirius. "It's better if we have all the information available so we don't make those mistakes again."

"Harry, even if that were the case, I don't think Professor Lupin would slip like that. There's a reason he is a trusted member in the Order."

"He might not at first, but you can find something else to talk about first. Maybe a new book you found or something else you both find interesting. Make him feel comfortable enough to let his guard down. Then you can shift the topic onto what's going on with the war. You can sound worried and nervous about us. He might tell you something then."

"Don't you realise how wrong this is? It's not right to abuse their trust. We have little as it is. And I certainly don't want to lose their trust in me," Hermione retorted with a cringe.

Her stomach clenched to this. She could imagine the consequences of this plan; it would risk her own plans. If she carried this out for them, it would make her seem too curious and inquisitive. The Order members at Hogwarts would start keeping a closer watch on her, especially Snape. And she was certain her plans were much more useful to the Order in the long run. She couldn't let them ruin everything now. She needed to buy at least a few weeks' time, enough to get her research up and running.

"If it's important, they'll tell us," Hermione repeated firmly. "If they find out about this, they'll keep us out even more."

"But you know what happened last year!" His voice rose in volume. "What's more important than making informed decisions?"

"Then you should approach Professor Lupin and ask him openly and honestly whether he can tell us anything. If you sneak around, we'll just prove them right about being immature children. You don't want them to ban us from permanently being involved just because we were curious!"

Hermione prayed fervently her warnings were getting through to him or at least giving him something that would take time to think over carefully, "There are more people involved than just the three of us!"

Ron, who had stayed silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke up, "Harry, I think Hermione might be right. If we push them too much, they'll just shove us out. We should wait a bit and see what happens."

Hermione couldn't have been more grateful for his intervention. While Ron tended to be the first to lose control to his emotions, he was also the strategist among them. He could be a persuasive voice of reason to Harry.

Harry backed off but growled. "Think about it, Hermione. We'll work out the details later," He dropped the subject as they arrived at Hogsmeade.

Ron shrugged helplessly at her with a silent promise to watch out for him.

They headed first to Honeydukes. As always, it was packed with students. While Harry and Ron attacked the most sugary of sweets, Hermione squeezed through the crowd to an unpopular jar of Whitening Worms. She wondered with a snicker whether Snape would appreciate some for his teeth, as well as for his vast collection of pickled animal parts.

Next, they separated with a promise to meet at the Three Broomsticks in an hour.

Hermione paused at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop to replace her dwindling supply of Speed-Scribe Quills and Smudgeless Ink. Then she practically bounced to Dervish & Bangs, her favorite. She shut her eyes and relaxed as the smell of old parchment washed over her. It was her ritual every time she visited the shop.

She never looked for anything in particular but always stumbled upon something she subconsciously wanted or needed. She found that she was most successful in this store if she came with an open mind.

Hermione started to meander along the aisles, heading toward the bookshelves in the back. Thoroughly browsing the selection would take time; the books were shelved randomly, but she had three-quarters of an hour to spare.

There were books of all shapes and sizes. Some were falling apart and others were brand new. There were knitting books to advanced course books, and even some on the Dark Arts. She walked down the first aisle, occasionally stroking the spine of any interesting book which caught her eye, but none called out to her. Along the third aisle though, she felt a gentle pull. Hermione followed the pull and closed in on a particular shelf. There! A battered encyclopedia of potions ingredients stood loosely among the books. As she reached for it, the book slid itself toward her hand as if wanting to be in her grasp. It was aged and stained, but more comprehensive than any such book in the Hogwarts library. Clutching the book tightly but carefully, she finished looking through the remaining shelves without further luck. Quickly checking the time, she found her time was up.

After completing her purchase, she made a mental note to thank the boys for dragging her out. Maybe she'd treat them to a round of butterbeer.

Hermione hurried to The Three Broomsticks, only to find Harry and Ron in a standoff with Draco Malfoy. Her bright mood evaporated at the sight.

"Move aside Potty, you're stinking up the place," She heard Malfoy say.

"Hah! The only thing stinking is your ferret hide," Harry shot back with shadowed eyes.

"You must have mistaken me for the Weasel. He's too poor to buy clean clothes."

Ron turned red with a growl and made to rush forward.

"Ron, no!" Hermione hissed, trying to pull him back in time.

"Oh, and here comes little Mudblood to wipe your arses," Malfoy mocked lazily.

"Is there a point to all of this? How many times have we done this?" Hermione gestured with an angry sigh. Mudblood jokes were getting repetitive, but those seemed to be his specialty. "Can't we all just ignore each other?"

"No, we can't let this go, Hermione," Harry replied stonily.

"No nothing. Don't make it any worse, Harry."

"If you don't care, then go away," Ron shouted angrily as he freed himself with a shove. "We're not going to let him step all over us."

Hermione stumbled back in surprise. Her eyes narrowed. "Is that so? Well then, I'll leave you three idiots to it," She replied acidly and stormed back to the library. They were all so infuriating, she fumed. As soon as she thought they had grown up, something always happend to show her otherwise. They needed to start acting responsibly if they wanted to be trusted with anything. She hoped working on the proposal would drive away the anger.

Sunday was also spent in the library, where she had a stroke of brilliance to look for Snape's own proposals. He had a Potions Mastery which meant he must have achieved some success in his own research. Most of her time was spent hunting for his work among hundreds of papers from the beginning of time. As there were very few students in Hogwarts used the research archives, new material tended to be tossed in little regard for organization.

She would have to see Madam Pince about this later.

In the end, she only managed to gather four of Snape's reports dating many years back, but those were enough to formulate a general understanding of his writing style. Not only did she now have a template to follow, but she now had a guide to writing class essays on which he would find no reason to take points off, she thought gleefully.

The proposal was finalized barely in time for curfew. She hurried through the dark corridors, hoping to avoid anyone, especially Snape. He would have a holiday if he got to punish her for completing work assigned by him.

As soon as she climbed through the portrait, Harry and Ron were on her.

"Hermione, we're so sorry!"

"I didn't mean what I said. I know that doesn't make it right but…"

"Malfoy kept attacking us. We couldn't let him get away with it. Or he'd think he won. We can't let that happen."

"You know us, acting before thinking."

"It's a guy thing…"

Hermione laughed as they trailed off with guilty looks. It was obvious they had been watching the entrance like hawks for quite a while now. They had the air of finally grasping their prize after a long, anxious wait.

"Here, have some Sugar Quills...so, sorry?" They offered as a truce. They both knew they were about to be flayed for what they had said. They had hurt her in similar ways many times in their five years of friendship. And each time, she had looked at them with hurt and resignation which made their guts twist in guilt. And each time, she had forgiven them, but not until they had weathered through a scolding.

However, this time she merely shook her head in amusement. She had already taken a day to calm down and relax her angry shoulders. She had just finished her proposal, to perfection if she may say, and there was nothing that could ruin her mood at this moment.

"You two sound like you're channeling the twins," She let out another chuckle. "It's alright. I know he initiates the fights, and I know your pride is bigger than your brains. I've been friends with you two for years now. But he'll keep taunting if we keep reacting in anger. That's just what he wants; I've told you many times before. If you just ignore him, he'll bet bored and back off," Hermione sighed heavily, "But I know it's going to happen again. Am I right? Just make sure you don't get hurt or in trouble with the professors. You don't want to get banned from Hogsmeade weekends or get detention. Just keep that in mind the next time you see red. Now, you two are forgiven."

"Really?" Harry asked incredulously. "You forgive us, just like that?" That was the shortest scolding they had ever received. They usually lasted around five minutes of venting with lots of pacing, and then she would give them a hard glare, asking them to repeat her lessons in not making trouble. They always just rolled their eyes and recited the words without any thought to their meaning. They had already had five year to ponder the meaning of those words.

But now that she had broken the ritual, they felt something lacking. Crazy.

"But like you said a moment ago, you guys tend to act without thinking. Remember that when you're trying to infiltrate the Order. Think about all the consequences while you are calm. You will see that your plan has more negatives than positives," She hoped that would deter them, at least for a few more weeks. She was relieved that they had asked for her opinion before plunging into trouble. It was much easier to stop them than to save them.

"Now, I need to head up and get some work done. Good night," With that, she left two dumbfounded but thoughtful boys in the middle of the common room.

_Didn't she already do an entire day of work?_ they both thought.

Up in the girls' dorm, Hermione spread the papers across her desk and lounged back in her chair.

She frowned and pondered her next courses of action. All the studying she was planning wasn't purely for an innocent school project. It had a much bigger purpose, one which could, no, _would_ affect the war. Hermione, Harry and Ron had not been allowed to join the Order, and probably would not until they graduated. They had been outraged, though she for a different reason than the two boys. The boys were angry about being left out and treated like children (which they all were), but she was frustrated about not doing anything at all. It was a waste of resources! The three of them had most contact with Voldemort in the past several years, Snape aside, and it was ridiculous to sweep them under the rug because they were underage.

The Order should at least train them since they seemed to place quite high on Voldemort's hate list. She understood their unwillingness to involve them; their plans to get information from Professor Lupin proved that they were rash. But, they'd had trouble with Voldemort every year, and she was not foolish to assume this year to be any different. Passing the N.E.W.T.s would not mean anything if one was dead.

Her thoughts had run wild from there, forming and rejecting ideas. Hermione had finally decided to contribute her most useful and developed skill: research. There was no one better or more dedicated to research than her, and no one could detain her from such an innocuous activity, especially while in school. It also wasn't out of character for her to jump on a chance at extra credit. As long as the subject matter stayed secret, she could do something worthwhile. She had two years left at Hogwarts, and she was going use that time wisely.

She had constructed a plan and schedule over the summer. Of course, it was still vague and depended on the results of each step, but if successful, the findings would most certainly give the Order an upper hand.

Potions would be its basis. She was still uncertain whether the research would bear fruit, but what was that quote? "_You will never know if you don't try_." So, she was working furiously to organize her thoughts and gain permission to use Snape's classroom. She wanted to succeed. She _needed _to succeed. Lives were on the line.

With renewed determination, Hermione began to devise precautions and develop the details. She couldn't have Snape finding out about this; that would create a possibility for the plan to leak to Dumbledore, which then would most likely be revealed to the Order. Mrs. Weasley would be the most vocal and adamant member against Hermione's involvement, with many others behind her.

_Utter hypocrisy._

First and foremost was protection of her notes. Advanced wards, protection charms, and repelling charms. It wouldn't do for them to fall into the wrong hands, and this time the hands were those of her allies stationed very close to her, she thought with much amusement.

Next, she would study the potions encyclopedia she had procured. The advancement of her research depended on her familiarity with ingredients she would be handling. Her school level knowledge, while more than typical 7th Years', would not be enough, which was a small blow to her pride. This was going to be a university, if not Mastery, level potions study, with a little twist.

And lastly, for now, she needed to gather the materials and books she would require to start off.

This was going to be a long and difficult endeavor with uncertain results, but war was a greater endeavor, growing more dangerous by the minute with their entire world at stake. Her project was minuscule in comparison.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Any feedback would be helpful and appreciated!_


	3. Weary Souls

**Weary Souls **

Mornings were always too early.

Severus knew he was an even bigger bastard than usual on Monday mornings, not that anyone else could tell the difference. There was a large difference between waking as a spy and waking as a grouch. As a grouch, his brain took its merry time to start functioning.

With some effort, he slid his legs out from under the bedding and blearily stumbled out into the chilly dungeon air which he suffered each morning. The dungeons were always cold except during the summer months when the air became damp and stale. Warming charms only lasted so long, and he couldn't pull up the energy to cast them at the moment.

He questioned why he woke up so early each day; it was barely five. _Because you're insomniac, bordering on insane_. He had long ago resigned to the fact that his body and mind were too damaged for a full night of rest.

Every morning, he woke his body by pushing it through training which involved both physical and mental exercises. After training, he would start brewing potions for the hospital wing's stock to cool down from the exercises; brewing always helped lull his overactive mind.

At breakfast, Severus scowled into his plate. Seeing Hermione Granger at the Gryffindor table had reminded him of another reason to hate the world. Couldn't people just leave him alone?

"Severus, you'll burn your toast if you glare at it any harder," Minerva warned as she sat down next to him.

He merely grunted.

His morning class with Gryffindors and Slytherins was a disaster as always. Everyone was miserable as he thundered at the students, something he took pride in causing. Not only was it the highlight of his day, but it also kept the students in check. He stalked between desks, frightening and terrorizing with each step. But his irritation returned at full blast at Granger's perfectly executed potion. He began to spit out insults with increased fervor.

Potter, Weasley and Longbottom were his usual targets, but now he singled out Granger's every action. 5 points for raising her hand. 10 points for attempting to help Longbottom. 5 points for putting a jar where it could potentially be knocked down. 10 points for not stopping Longbottom's cauldron from exploding. By the end of class, Potter and Weasley looked as though they were about to whip out their wands to hex him, and Granger was seething. He seemed successful in getting her to hate him; maybe she would leave him alone now.

After the students filed out, Granger stood in front of his desk once more, visibly trying to calm her breathing.

"Professor, I-I apologize for the trouble I caused today," She said, biting her lip. "I would like to submit my research proposal," As she laid the parchment down with a steady hand, Severus's face took on a nasty sneer. "I would like to thank you for giving me this opportunity."

She had courage, the insufferable Gryffindor. Minerva would be proud.

"Dismissed," He snarled.

She jumped and fled the room once more.

* * *

><p>Regardless of everything he tried, Severus couldn't ease the pounding in his head. He was so exhausted. He had just returned from another Death Eater meeting where a Muggle couple had been mangled to death. The sight had been sickening. He almost hadn't apparated back to Hogwarts in time to vomit out of view.<p>

There was nothing he could do for his head other than to hide it behind Occlumency shields. He was banned from using Headache and Dreamless Sleep Potions since completing Poppy's addiction treatment only a month ago, ordered by Albus. The withdrawal had been almost as bad as his Death Eater initiation. Treatment had lasted the entire summer while he was still required to answer the Dark Lord's calls. The combined torture may have been the most excruciating and humiliating experience he had ever been trapped in; only his body's resilience and his mastery of Occlumency had kept him from succumbing to insanity.

His headache was intensifying and the temptation started wriggling in the back of his mind…his newly healed rib and sprained ankle certainly didn't help. Poppy had confiscated his entire stock. He wasn't even allowed to brew them for the infirmary.

With a grimace, he slammed his mental guards in place. He couldn't allow another slip of concentration as back in June. Resisting half an hour of Cruciatus after missing a dose of Headache Potion had wrecked his shields. Had the Dark Lord not been raging about Lucius's failure, he would most certainly have been discovered that night. Severus had immediately decided to end his dependency; suffering through withdrawal was much more appealing than a drawn-out, tortured death. Both were painful, but he would be alive after the first option.

Later that night, the Headmaster knocked on his door.

"What do you want?"

"Good evening, Severus," Albus swept in and sat in a hard wooden chair without answering.

"Yes, Albus, go ahead, feel free to make yourself at home," Severus said through gritted teeth.

"How are you faring?" This conversation had happened many times before.

"Marvelously. Just leave me alone for now, Albus, I'll go to your office later."

"I am worried about you, more so lately. How much worse has it become?"

Severus barked a hoarse laugh and collapsed into his armchair, "You don't want to know."

Albus flinched at the sound. "I am sorry…"

"Don't waste your breath."

"Is there no way to ease the pain?"

"No, as I have repeated before," Severus snapped with a sneer. "The Dark Lord knows there is a traitor among his ranks. He is trying to flush me out by using…unpleasant means on all of us."

Albus's eyes dulled.

"There is nothing to cry about. His mistrust is hindering his own progress."

"But Poppy…"

"The Dark Lord is planning something," Severus said abruptly. "He may be searching for an alternate source of power."

"…How?" Albus asked, deciding to let the matter go for now.

"There has recently been an influx of new faces. None, however, have been initiated. They work closely with the Dark Lord but never participate in Circle activity."

"What have you discovered?"

"I was able to identify of one of the men, Aswad Ahmet, from a potions conference many years ago. I traced him back to Egypt, but from there the tracks become vague," Severus raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He may have been part of a department for misuse of magic or experimental magic or such within their equivalent of our Ministry, but nothing has yet been confirmed. Aside from an unofficial document mentioning his death, I have not found any record of him since then."

"Have you any guesses as to his purpose?"

"Research. Experimentation. Ancient magic. What worries me most is his Egyptian origin," He said as he leaned back with closed eyes. "We will need to contact Bill Weasley. That is all I have so far."

Albus studied his face. "Have you been sleeping?"

"That's none of your business."

There was a long pause, and Severus immediately knew the Headmaster was about to make an unwelcome request.

"Severus, it may aid you to take an assistant," He suggested. "I hear Miss Granger has shown interest in independent potions stu-"

"No."

"I believe it is just what you need."

"As I said earlier, don't waste your breath."

"You may be surprised."

"I do not need this on top of everything else, Albus."

"Give her a chance, Severus. It will take merely minutes of your time to look over her proposal."

"What use will it be?"

"You are best aware of your limits. She could reduce your load, perhaps even become an ally."

Severus shot one final half-hearted glare but knew he couldn't refuse.

"Don't raise your expectations, or have expectations at all," He said with a grimace.

"Thank you, Severus. It also seems Minerva has not yet been informed…" Albus gave him a knowing smile. "Lemon drop?"

"Go away."

At that, Albus swept out of the door as quickly as he had swept in, probably twinkling madly all the way to his office.

Sighing, Severus reached over and grabbed the offending parchment. Granger's proposal had sat untouched for days. He had decided if he had to suffer, so did she. But at Albus' word, he could no longer avoid it.

Gods, he didn't want to read this. He was being pushed and pulled from multiple directions: by Granger who wanted this badly enough to approach him, by Albus who had cornered him yet again, by a part of him that wanted to crawl away and hide from the world, and by another part of him which craved non-hostile human contact.

Obviously, the majority fell in her favor.

He knew, even before reading the proposal, that had she won. He stared into the cold fireplace, drowning in his bitter thoughts. Maybe Albus was right.

Hesitantly, he unfolded the parchment and saw her name written in precise, angled script. How long had it been since he read her essays with the respect they deserve? Was there any point to this? Was there any…he mentally slapped himself; his thoughts were falling back to the dark.

Severus began to read.

It was perfect. His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.

It was exactly as he would have written it – clear and concise. The topic, a study of precision in potions brewing, was acceptable, though rather vague (but, it was more than expected for a 6th year project). The argument was concrete. The approach was logical. The objective was ambitious but within reason. It was flawless.

It made him remember the true reason why he stopped reading her essays long ago. They were always flawless. He trusted them to be flawless. And they made him grieve for the years of research he had lost and would continue to lose to this endless war.

He read through twice more and knew there was no way he could reject Granger now.

* * *

><p>She could feel the impatience scrambling her brain. She couldn't concentrate. It hadn't been too bad for the first several days after submitting the proposal, but now almost two weeks had passed. The horrible man!<p>

Hermione had spent the time attempting to study warding, but frustration at her distracted self had frustratingly distracted her. It was in her nature to worry despite her confidence, and her wandering mind had been nowhere near as productive as she would like. On an especially bad day, Madam Pince had almost tossed her out of the library after she dropped a book for the fourth time. She was nervous about Snape's decision, and she was nervous about the days passing by, shortening the time for research. It was irrational; two weeks were hardly anything in comparison to the full length of her project, but impatience overruled good judgment.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ron asked seriously with a mouthful of bacon, "You've been pretty moody these past few days."

"Is it your time of the month?" Harry quipped innocently.

Hermione couldn't suppress a small grin, "Quiet, you two, or I'll give you detailed commentary during my next period."

"At least we got you to smile…" But both boys looked nauseous at the threat, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I've just been so nervous about an essay I haven't gotten back yet from Professor Snape. I can't think of anything else. Maybe I wasn't clear about in the conclusion," She mumbled. "Hmm, or that point could have been better worded. Or maybe he's tossed it out without informing me!" She took a quick glance at the High Table, but Snape was absent.

"Hermione, stop worrying. You know you did perfectly fine," They slung their arms around her shoulders. This was a situation where they knew to restrain their exasperation or else she would work herself into hysterics.

Their calming tone and their steady support, rather than the words themselves snapped her out of her stupor. Her shoulders lost some of their tension and a tiny smile returned to her face. The anxiety was still there, but her fondness and appreciation for her best friends surfaced to the forefront of her thoughts. They tended to be brash and hot-headed, but during difficult times they always knew how to make her feel better.

"Thank you, I needed that."

"Not a problem. Remember that we're here for you," Harry replied while taking a bite of his eggs. He then piled food onto her plate. "Here, you'll need energy for Potions."

Potions that morning went surprisingly smoothly. An explosion had been averted by Neville himself, and Gryffindor only lost five points. Could this be a sign of good things to come, Hermione wondered.

When Snape detained her after class, Hermione's throat clenched in anticipation. This was the defining moment; his decision would determine the next several years of her life, as well as her ability to contribute to the Order.

"I have reviewed your proposal," Hermione swallowed as Snape paused. "We shall discuss the conditions in detail tonight."

"Be in my office at 7. Don't be late," He added briskly.

Realizing what that meant, she beamed at him. "Thank you, sir!" and fled the room a third time, but this time in exhilaration.

If she had turned back, she would have seen Snape frozen, confused and stunned at being the cause of such a smile.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Review and tell me what you think!_


	4. As Need Arises

**As Need Arises **

Hermione's concentration didn't improve at all after leaving the dungeons. She was neither impatient nor anxious anymore; she was now brimming with excitement.

Evidently, everyone noticed; Harry and Ron were not the only ones shooting her concerned glances during History of Magic. The entire class could see her grinning at – through – Professor Binns and occasionally scribbling _something_ on what looked like her notes. Only the two boys sitting next to her saw what exactly she was writing: doodles of lacewing flies and shrivelfigs. Unfortunately, not only were the two potions ingredients ugly in reality, but her drawing skills were truly dreadful.

They finally cornered her during lunch.

"What's up with you, Hermione?" Ron asked. "You're not just moody, you've now gone insane!"

"I'm fine," She said with a bright smile. "Everything's wonderful."

"You were having a nervous breakdown this morning, and now it looks like you've been hit by a Cheering Charm."

"Everything's wonderful," She repeated, her smile only growing.

"Does it have something to do with that essay and being held back after class today?"

"It does!" She grinned happily. "I just got approved for an independent study."

"Not for Potions, is it?" Ron asked incredulously.

"With Snape?" Harry asked pensively.

"Yes, for Potions and with Professor Snape."

"You can't be serious," Ron shook his head.

"How can you even consider working with Snape? He's _Snape_. How can you trust to be in the same room as him?" Harry demanded. "And you're going to be alone with him – for _hours_? What could you learn from that git? He's just going to make your life hell like my Occlumency lessons."

"I know Professor Snape can be spiteful, but Professor Dumbledore trusts him. I'm not going to let his unpleasant temperament get in the way of my research."

"More than unpleasant, if you ask me," Ron protested. "He hates us, remember?"

"What he's going to see is an excellent student who is unfortunately friends with you two and who has calmed down over the summer. What he doesn't know – doesn't realize – won't hurt him. I won't give him a reason to yell at me," She answered.

"He'll slaughter you anyway and pickle you in one of those jars," Ron cried.

"That's ridiculous," She said stubbornly, "And he's brilliant. Not only does he have a Potions Mastery, which by the way is a very difficult title to get, I found a few of his research publications in the library, and they're incredible! His discoveries on slow release methodologies are revolutionary! And the study of hormonal emiss…"

"Hermione, please don't tell me you've fallen in love with Snape's brain. Wasn't Lockhart bad enough?"

"I have not! I'm just appreciating his intelligence."

"It doesn't matter if he's smart. Voldemort was smart too. Look where he's at," Harry snapped with a frown.

"Intelligence used with the right intent is a powerful weapon for the good. Don't forget, Professor Dumbledore is also brilliant," She insisted.

"That's not the point. Snape's probably goin…"

"Stop it. You're not the one doing this. And I'm doing it for a good reason."

"What reason could be good enough to spend extra time with Snape? Can't you do Transfiguration? Or Charms? You're top in Arithmancy right?"

"No, I'm studying Potions and that is final. I'll explain tonight after I meet with _Professor_ Snape," She turned on her heel and headed off to Ancient Runes.

Now, she was standing in front of Snape's door, taking deep, calming breaths. She waited until exactly ten seconds before the appointed time and knocked. Six seconds later, she heard a sharp "Come in." She opened the door and stepped into the office exactly as the clock hit seven.

She had never been in his office before; It looked even less inviting than the potions classroom. Sitting at the desk to her left was Snape, surrounded by stacks of parchment which looked to be student essays from the angry red slashes. He ignored her for two full minutes before looking up sharply.

"Miss Granger. How punctual," He said condescendingly.

She cringed inwardly and wondered whether Snape knew exactly how long she had waited in front of the door before knocking. He probably had a sensor installed at the doorway...no, Muggle technology. He probably had applied _wards_ to the doorway. She was sure of it.

"Remind me of why you are here tonight," His voice cut through her thoughts.

Gathering all of her Gryffindor traits, she said, "I am here to conduct an independent study on how brewing techniques affect the resulting potion."

"That is obvious from your proposal."

Confused, she continued, "I have reason to believe that there is no specific right or wrong technique in brewing as long as the general recipe is followed, only variations which affect the effect and potency. If we can pinpoint how each motion and timing affects the end product, we could determine ways to brew variations of the same potion to suit different degrees of need."

"Again, that is obvious from your proposal! You are trying my patience, Miss Granger," Snape sneered.

Her breath hitched as it suddenly hit her; Hermione realized what exactly he was asking. _The conditions!_

Wondering whether she would survive the night unscathed, she lowered her eyes to focus on a button on his robes. "S-sir, I will need sessions which span two and a half hours at the least, which is the average duration to fully brew most school level potions with time remaining to study the results."

"Go on," He snapped impatiently.

She paused and glanced up at his face. "I will require workspace for two cauldrons and a preparation area."

"What else?"

Another pause. "I would like to request five sessions per week."

"Three. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. What else?"

"I will need to make regular trips to Diagon Alley for ingredients."

"You will have permission to use the student stores. What else?"

"May I leave incomplete potions in stasis overnight?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. "Anything else?"

"…I would like to bring in Professor McGonagall's transfigured mice for testing."

"If contained. Will that be all?"

"Er…may I answer that as the need arises, sir?" She asked uneasily, losing steam.

Narrowing his eyes at her as if he was studying her under a Muggle microscope, he answered. "Very well." Then he started to speak.

"Miss Granger, you are here to conduct an advanced study in potions. This is an extracurricular project. If your performance in the classroom suffers even in the slightest, I will terminate this project immediately."

"I will review your progress every two weeks."

"In addition to your project, you will carry the role of my assistant. You will be brewing for the hospital wing, as well as preparing and cleaning the classroom. I will expect nothing less than perfection," Snape commanded. "You will arrive the same days, Monday, Tuesday and Thursday mornings at six and work until eight. Tardiness will not be tolerated. Is that clear?"

She flinched at the tone. She had not expected to be his assistant…but if it allowed her to research. She would do it.

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Your research sessions begin at six in the evening here in my office, where I can watch you closely for any…mishaps. You will be silent at all times. If you even _look_ as if you are about to speak, I will terminate this project," He snarled.

She nodded meekly. "Yes, sir.

"You will have access to classroom equipment in the classroom. What you use must be returned in pristine condition. Otherwise, I will terminate this project!" He hissed. "Do not make me regret this decision. Do. You. Understand?"

"I understand, sir."

"You will start next week. That is all," He dismissed. As if forgetting that she was still in the room, his focus returned to the grading.

Hermione strolled thoughtfully through the corridors leading to the Gryffindor Tower, reviewing the conditions. Everything she had requested had been improvised. On the spot. Her mind had almost short-circuited for a moment when she realized what was happening; she had barely enough time to string her thoughts together. She had known what she needed for her project, but she hadn't expected to have any say!

Morning brewing. She would need to wake by half past five. _Oh no…_

Everyone knew she was a bookworm. Everyone knew she could be bossy. Everyone knew she studied ahead in all her classes. Everyone knew she secretly hated Professor Binns. What everyone didn't know was that Hermione Granger was not and will never be a morning person.

Half past five...that's not so bad. She would just set three more alarms and maybe cast a Cheering Charm on herself. And it was only three days of the week – nothing big. Right?

On the bright side – although she would definitely need a Cheering Charm in the morning to remember that a bright side existed – she would have more opportunities to brew. She could practice her own techniques in handling ingredients, maybe even apply her theories on them, she consoled herself. In a twisted way, she thought wryly, Snape had given her a subtle, unintentional compliment by letting her help him.

She had also managed to get seven and a half hours of lab time per week, which was much more than she had expected. She thought he would put a limit to two sessions, but she'd had to try for more. Her mother had always laughed at her for being skilled at persuasion but hopeless at haggling. Well, now she could prove her wrong or at least show that she had improved, slightly. She would spend the other days researching theory, which was equally important as practical application.

Even more, she couldn't believe her luck at not having to buy her own ingredients and supplies. Over the summer, she had done her best to collect as much money as possible by working as a waitress at a local French restaurant. She had been awkward at first, not knowing how to seem approachable, but after a week and the realization that her tip depended on her friendliness she had learned to act. Regardless, that money wouldn't have lasted the year.

There were several more details to organize. She needed to arrange her workspace to give Snape least visibility of her motions. She needed to be extremely careful around him; he was a spy after all. During their talk, she had noted several positions where, if the table was angled a certain way, his view would be partially blocked without seeming intentional. She would take the first several sessions to work it out.

Warding her notes was still an issue. Now that the cause of her anxiety was over, she could concentrate properly on finding the perfect solution to prevent exposure.

Her final worry was her schedule. She had chosen classes with the night sessions in mind, but the morning sessions had been unexpected. The current schedule of nine classes had not been a problem so far, but combined with the additional work, she wondered if it might be too much.

After the last several years, she had learned her lesson about taking on too much. Her main priority now was the research project. She would need to talk to Professor McGonagall about dropping one of them, perhaps Astronomy. And maybe reduce her Prefect duties. She wouldn't mind completely dropping the Prefect title either, if it benefited her project.

It was only as she arrived at the Fat Lady did Hermione recall Snape's behavior. It hadn't been hurtful – biting maybe – but not deliberately out to squash her. It was insistent, as if he was pushing her from behind. There was a feeling that he was trying to draw the right answers out of her in accordance to her own conclusions, rather than shoving them at her. He hadn't admonished her for her answers as he did in class. He hadn't tried to restrain her. He had barely spoken, allowing her to set the conditions. He hadn't insulted her. Not once!

It was…atypical.

* * *

><p>In the common room, Hermione sat with Harry and Ron in comfortable armchairs off to one side. She had just finished her homework while the boys had been arguing about which Quidditch moves.<p>

The atmosphere was lively with students scattered around the red and gold room. Few were sitting at tables for study sessions. Many were laughing over games or snacks. And others were sitting in front of the fire gossiping. They looked so carefree; she knew some already looked forward to winter holidays when it was only entering October.

She looked down at her books. How she wanted time to slow down. The days were passing too quickly; there was so little time as it is. It wasn't merely the thought of having only two more years at Hogwarts. It was the revelation that she had already been part of the wizarding world for five years.

Hermione remembered receiving her letter and feeling outraged that someone would go so far to pull a prank on her. She remembered the Sorting where she had tried to hold a full conversation about '_Hogwarts: A History'_ with the Sorting Hat. It was all a messy blur after that. Where had the time gone? She had been twelve years-old, and suddenly she was seventeen. At that moment, she fully understood that there was no reason, no point, in wishing for time to speed up, because the future would meet them either way.

She wasn't ready for winter holidays, or anything beyond that.

Looking over at Harry and Ron, she saw two boys neither trying to slow nor speed up the passage of time but instead, completely in denial that time existed at all, too busy with pranks and Quidditch and confidence in their own immortality.

Taking advantage of a gap in their conversation, she brought up the topic of her research – with the _true _subject matter.

"You know I told you earlier about the potions study I'm doing," She waved her hand for their attention. "It's a project on finding ways to change the foundations of magic.

Harry and Ron looked mystified.

"Have you noticed? The wizarding world is so set within the current divisions of magic, like Transfiguration is Transfiguration, Potions is Potions. Of course, people are inventing new magic, but it's all within those divisions."

She paused to take in their reactions. There was silence. Harry was nodding along absently. Ron was a little better; he looked as if he was listening but didn't care to form a response. Nevertheless, she pressed on.

"But, if you take a look at older rituals – ancient ones, you will see that many have combined magic of different divisions within one sequence. Like making a potion and then charming it. The resulting effect is different from the original effect of the potion – usually stronger."

She took another pause. Harry had stopped nodding and was now nodding off. Ron still looked as if he heard but didn't seem like he cared to understand any of it. Why weren't they listening to her? They were the ones who had demanded to know her reasons!

"You two! Pay attention, this is important!" She snapped in irritation. "No one bothers with those practices these days because the most of the wizarding world thinks what they learn in school is enough. But it's not, especially not if we want to win this war. If we study the combination of different forms of magic dur…"

"Hermione, if no one's bothered with it these days, it means they know it doesn't work, right?" Harry interrupted. "So what's the point of studying it if we already know it won't work?"

"But that's the thing! How can we be certain it doesn't work? It's worked in the past. There are just so few means of higher level magical education," Hermione huffed disapprovingly. "There are only several universities around the world. Only five Potions Masters, six Charms Masters, four Transfiguration Masters, and three Master Arithmancers in all of England! Everyone else has to either self-study, join Ministry departments, or apprentice at private businesses. The Dark Arts may be the only field which is evolving. Isn't it ridiculous?"

"What is?" Ron asked blankly.

"Not only is wizarding culture stuck between the Late Medieval Era to Early Modern Period, its education syst…"

"Wait wait, Hermione…what's 'mid-evil'? You-Know-Who is worse than that. Extremely-evil is more like it."

"No, M-e-d-i-e-v-a-l, meaning the Middle Ages. It spans from around the fifth century to the fifteenth century. Well, it's all a bit vague there," She frowned for a moment. "Anyway, the Early Modern Period is that time until around the eighteenth century. The wizarding world is somewhere in between."

"Hermione, what are you...you're not making any sense!"

"I'm talking about how the culture is stagnant which has led to magic being stagnant as well. In '_A History of Magic'_ – remember, the textbook for the class – we covered centuries of wizarding history. The Late Middle Ages ended for Muggles, but the wizarding world barely moved past it, at least not in many of its traditions and mindset. It's probably because the Muggle and wizarding worlds separated around that time and fear of losing their identity set in. Harry, you grew up with Muggles. You know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah…that's right…" He appeared to be dozing.

Hermione scrunched her eyes, groaned in frustration, and finally gave up. "Nevermind! Go back to your stupid Quidditch talk."

Harry and Ron were suddenly alert, turned to each other, grinned, then went back to enthusiastically discuss whether Marian Hristov was a better beater than Alexander Foik.

_Ugh, Quidditch has a history too, you know!_

She sat motionless in her armchair, watching the children in the common room.

That's what they all were – children.

None of them, no one other than her and Harry and Ron, were making any attempt to consider or admit the future and the war that they were about to crash into. Even the two boys next to her were only thinking about it half-heartedly. She tried – she really tried – but she knew nothing would change until change splashed onto their faces. When that time came they would not be anywhere close to ready. And that was what separated children from adults.

Hermione couldn't help but feel old.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Review! Send me your thoughts and constructive criticism. Is it awkward/difficult to read? What do you like? What do you not?_


	5. Deception and Discord

**Deception and Discord **

Minerva McGonagall hadn't felt so flummoxed in years.

She prided herself on the fact that she was always the most collected person in a crowd, the most grounded and poised. Now, though, she stared – bewildered – at the two empty teacups in front of her. _What had just happened?_

The day had started out normally: she woke, reviewed her day's class syllabi, enjoyed a healthy breakfast, and taught unruly students. That was how the day was supposed to continue – normally. Maybe a few troublemakers in the halls or half-transfigured pillows flapping around the room but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

Everything was normal until Hermione Granger walked through the door.

She was Untransfiguring plates back into parchment when Hermione strode in with her head high, just as collected as Minerva was usually, and politely greeted her.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

"Miss Granger."

"May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course. Please take a seat," She replied with a kind smile. "Would you care for some tea?"

Hermione hesitated. "Yes, please. That would be wonderful."

Conjuring up a steaming pot and two delicate teacups, she steadily poured the tea and offered one to her.

"Now, how can I help you?"

"Professor, I came today to discuss my current schedule," Hermione answered confidently. "I feel that my work load may be heavier than I had expected."

Minerva blinked. This was unexpected.

"And why is that, Miss Granger?"

"I am beginning to feel pressed for time and worry about a possible decline in the quality of my work."

She blinked, this time accompanied by a slight rise of her eyebrows. Minerva took a quick sip of her tea to cover her surprise.

"I would like to put in two requests," Her eyes were intense and determined. "First, I would like to drop one class from my schedule."

Minerva blinked a third time and had to focus on suppressing the urge to gape. _A Hermione Granger imposter?_ She took a larger swallow.

"And the second?" She asked hesitantly. This was…this was just not _normal_, and she found herself almost dreading the answer.

"I would like to either reduce my Prefect duties or resign from my position as a Prefect."

_Oh, my._

"May I ask what led you to this conclusion?" Minerva inquired weakly, trying to recollect herself; her hands gripped the cup tightly, but her eyes never strayed from her student's face.

"I have recently taken on an extracurricular project," Hermione explained, still looking confident, but Minerva noticed her shift slightly in her seat. "This project may require more of my time than I had originally planned."

"Planned?" Now she was curious. Questions welled up within her. What could cause Hermione Granger, the most ambitious and brilliant witch of the century, to admit herself incapable of handling a task she set for herself? And why wasn't she, her Head of House, informed?

Very curious.

"And what is the nature of this project?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then picked up her own cup of tea for the first time and took a small sip. Minerva watched with a mixture of incredulity and fascination as the Prefect – still a Prefect – avoided her eyes. By the time Hermione set down the cup, the girl had regained her composure.

"I have recently been approved for an independent study," Hermione paused, then continued carefully – her face giving nothing away. "I will be working on a research project…in Potions…under Professor Snape."

Minerva choked. She stared in disbelief. _What? _This was one scenario she had never even thought to consider. She practically shoved the teacup in her face and took a large gulp, scalding her tongue in the process, but not realizing because she was just too…muddled.

Her most prized student had just stated that she had chosen to study under Severus. Severus the Slytherin. Potions.

_Oh, my._

Minerva didn't know what to say. Her ground, the good, reliable ground that she had always been firmly rooted to, had just fallen away, taking her with it.

_Oh, my._

She was shocked that Hermione had chosen Potions as her field of study. Minerva had been so certain she would approach her for a Transfigurations independent study. She was even more shocked that Severus Snape had agreed to mentor the girl. He had only accepted three other students in his entire teaching career, and they had all been from the Slytherin House.

The girl's courage was admirable, but that wasn't anything new – they all knew that already.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger," Minerva offered with a weak smile.

Hermione visibly relaxed, tension escaping her shoulders. She must have been hiding her nervousness and fear of rejection – of disapproval – behind that cool mask of confidence. The poor girl had been expecting maybe anger and censure from her Head of House. Oh course she would expect disapproval. This went against the animosity between two eternally clashing Houses. Between two competing subjects of study. And between Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape.

But this was not the time to bring up petty squabbles. This was the time to act as a mentor, a Head of House, a teacher, and offer support to a student in need.

"Could you share with me the details of your independent study? I admit I am curious as to what it entails, although my understanding of potions is quite limited," Minerva smiled, this time reassuringly, pushing back all of her confusion to analyze at a later time. As she regained her senses and registered the pain from her burnt tongue which helped her further reestablish her focus.

Hermione returned the smile with a beautiful, bright grin of her own showing her pride and excitement for the project.

"I'm researching how variations in motions and timing during potions brewing affect the effect and potency of the potion," She explained enthusiastically, eyes twinkling like Albus's on a good day. "Similar to Transfiguration, where the intonation and wand motion affect the end result…"

The two women spent the next thirty minutes talking and adjusting her Prefect duties to accommodate her work for Severus. After much deliberation, Minerva allowed Hermione the exception of dropping Astronomy – a mandatory core class – and reduced her Prefect duties by half.

"Professor McGonagall, thank you so much. I really appreciate your help and support," Hermione thanked her profusely, finishing her tea with gusto. "May I consult you regularly on the progress of this project?"

"Of course, Miss Granger, it is my pleasure," Minerva said affectionately as she stood from her chair and accompanied her student to the door. "I am very proud of you."

"Thank you. Really," She repeated with a glint in her eyes, a glint of something. "I will treasure any future guidance."

Hermione paused for a moment, facing her professor, and suddenly squeezed her professor in a quick but tight hug. By the time Minerva woke from her surprise to form a response, the girl had already reached the end of the corridor, walking with a small bounce to her steps.

_What had just happened?_

Returning to her desk, Minerva had a feeling she was missing something vital in those final words. Whether it was the expression on Hermione's face or the words themselves, she didn't know. It only served to further confuse her befuddled mind – the confusion returning to the forefront.

This was far from what she had imagined her day to be when she had woken that morning. Or any morning.

She shook head to regain her composure, recalling the joy of watching Hermione chatter on about her project and felt warmth and contentment spreading through her. Never had she seen her so bright, so eager, not even during the Animagus lecture where she had been close to bouncing in her seat. She understood those expressions of eagerness, enthusiasm, and excitement because she had felt it herself when, as a student, she had gained approval for an independent study from her own professor.

To see students share their eagerness to learn and to know that her guidance and support would help them on their road to success were the most rewarding parts of being an instructor. She decided, regardless of whether Hermione was studying under her or studying under Severus – or even under Sybil Trelawny, she thought with a snort – Minerva would do all she could to help this girl reach her goal.

But first, she had a certain bat of the dungeons to confront.

* * *

><p>Severus had just finished grading Fourth Year essays while planning – daydreaming – a gruesome detention for the next evening. Mashing, slug paste, lovely. Not.<p>

Then, he sensed Minerva's fierce irritation outside the office. The door flew open with a bang.

"Severus Snape!"

He ignored her, pretending to be absorbed in the parchment.

"Don't ignore me, young man. I know you are faking."

"Minerva," He cocked an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Severus, I don't know whether to be angry with you or to thank you."

"What have I done this time to receive your wrath or your gratitude? Either is troublesome, but you've always been indecisive."

"Miss Granger just spoke with me. She requested to drop a class to lighten her work load. When I asked her why, she told me she's doing an independent study, with _you_!"

He smirked. "Ah, yes. That is correct. She chose Potions," So this was what Albus meant about Minerva not knowing…

"Is that jealousy I see?" He inquired in false pleasantry, like the cat that got the cream. A vindictive cat.

"Severus…" A warning.

"It seems your Gryffindor cub has betrayed the pride of lions," He smirked. "What a shame."

"I said I could be grateful," Minerva said with a huff. "What did you say to her?"

"I said nothing, suggested nothing, proposed nothing. She came to me on her own. I merely agreed. She seems to like Potions better than your woolly subject. Perhaps you should consider improving your teaching methods."

Goading her was a bad (good?) habit of his, a sport he'd enjoyed for years. Her reactions always provided amusement which lasted hours. It was too bad he was alone in this; no one else dared to cross her. Maybe Trelawny, unintentionally, but he avoided the woman like the plague. He cringed at the memory of the times she had tried to read his palm and spoke dreamily about Mars or whatnot in the middle of a staff meeting.

"Don't you dare bully the girl," Minerva commanded.

"I cannot – will not – promise that. You know well enough not to ask that of me."

And she did know him, very well, in fact. "Fine, tone it down then. She's dedicated and hard-working and more potential than anyone, since you. Such a shame she chose Potions. Transfiguration could use some new talent," She knew of his smugness at besting her and that the allure of continuing to do so would keep the worst of his wrath at bay.

"Only if she keeps her mouth shut."

Minerva pretended not to hear and snapped, "Take good care of her, or I'll have your throat."

"I will act however I like. My actions are my own. I can only guarantee that Granger won't die when she explodes my office," He scowled.

"You shouldn't underestimate her abilities…"

"Minerva, this is research. _Potions_ research. Of course there will be explosions."

"That's where you come in, as a mentor. Help the girl. I will be watching you."

Minerva left with another huff and a small smile.

So that was what she was here to do, to goad _him_ into not tearing the girl apart at first sight by playing on his competitive nature against her and her stupid House. Hah, he wasn't going to fall for that. He knew he was a bastard, and it was up to Granger to survive.

He sneered and waved his hand. _She has the gall to slam my door open and lacks the manners to close it after her._ The door shut smoothly and quietly, with only a soft click echoing through the room.

* * *

><p>Monday morning, Hermione barely registered her first alarm. Her wand peeked feebly out to zap it off but made no attempt to open her eyes. Fifteen past five.<p>

The second and third alarms felt just as difficult. Twenty five past five.

The fourth alarm. She was almost there; just a few more minutes… Half five.

The fifth and final alarm was Crookshanks – always her beloved Crookshanks. A lick to the nose, a sharp tug of her hair. _Fine, fine. I'm up… _Thirty-five past five. Fifteen minutes until she needed to leave the dorms.

Ah, she made it with two minutes to spare, irritated and ready to be irritating.

After a knock and a "come in", she was led to his office lab. She looked around the dingy room, slightly chilly and a little shabby, but her half-open eyes barely saw it.

"Snake fangs. Crushed," Snape ordered gruffly. He hadn't spoken a single full sentence since she arrived.

_Oh no…_ He didn't seem to be a morning person either – a perfect recipe for disaster.

"Well? Get to it!" He snarled.

As she had predicted, the bright side of the arrangement completely escaped her, only leaving a deep longing for her warm, soft, comfortable bed and sweet Crookshanks upstairs.

Although lacking in strength, she mentally slapped herself to wake herself from her declining resolve, as well as her snoozing mind. Of course she needed to do this…this…disaster of a morning. If her research could help the Order with the war, it would mean she was increasing her chances of being capable of having more bad mornings in the future – by being _alive_.

So she obediently followed his instructions. Obedience cost less energy than protesting, anyway.

After the snake fangs came the disembowelment of frogs and chopped knotgrass, all in large quantities. By breakfast, she was sweaty from the excursion and bubbling cauldrons nearby. She wondered if there would be time for a shower.

Not likely.

After a silent dismissal, Hermione stumbled into the Great Hall and sagged onto the bench beside her two best friends. She her propped an elbow on the table and allowed her head to drop into her hand.

"Good morning, Hermione," Ron greeted her tentatively. "…You look tired."

His voice roused her from her daze enough for her to begin breakfast with a cup of coffee and toast.

"I spent the morning working on the independent study project," Hermione grumbled. She groaned inwardly and decided to leave out any mention of Snape after recalling the less than pleasant reactions to his name.

"It's morning!"

"Of course it's morning," She replied after swallowing a bite of her toast.

"And…erm, don't bite my head off, but Hermione, you stink."

"Oh. The frogs," A casual wave of her wand eliminated the odor.

"The _frogs_?" Harry asked, "What were you doing with frogs? In the dorms?"

"I was…I was studying their behavior."

Harry looked at her skeptically. "Alright…"

Before he could say more, she hastily changed the subject.

"Let's head to class. We're going to be late."

* * *

><p>Hermione entered Snape's office for the second time that day with relief for finally moving forward in her plan, ready and eager to get everything started. Her personal fight against the war had officially moved past the 'initial planning' phase.<p>

"Miss Granger, set up your workspace and equipment," He said harshly, not giving her a chance to speak, but that was fine with her – it made things simpler.

The table was sitting near the door connecting to the classroom across the room from where she had decided to locate herself. Goodness, it was heavy! She dragged and pushed it several feet, making loud scraping sounds of heavy wood against stone, before she shot Snape a quick glance and waved her wand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" Hermione whispered.

The table floated several more feet before Snape's voice sliced through the air.

"Miss Granger, what are you doing?" He hissed.

She froze like a deer caught in headlights. The table in the air wavered.

"I – I'm moving it silently, sir," She whispered, not forgetting his threat of throwing her out for speaking. She began to panic. Gods, she was an idiot! What if he kicked her out now, even before she began!

"Who said you could use magic?"

He didn't wait for an answer before continuing.

"I will not allow wand-waving in this office!" He snarled. "Do you not know the risks of magical interference on potions?"

"Yes, sir. But you can elimi—" She protested.

"Levitation is a spell which leaves one of the most significant amounts of magical residue! You will obtain another table. Without magic!"

"…yes, sir."

She angrily levitated the floating table back to its original place and entered the storage room, reprimanding herself for her slip and cursing Snape for not allowing her to explain. After determining the table closest to the door as adequate, she returned to the grueling task of shoving, dragging, and scraping. It took five minutes before she reached her target corner.

Once correctly positioned, she began to set up and organize the necessary equipment. One medium and one large cauldron, stirring rods, knives, vials, time keepers, ingredients, her notes. Her goal today was to start out with the Boil Cure Potion taught in First Year potions and keep to the cover research project. Nothing suspicious.

Grinding, chopping, slicing, boiling, simmering, stirring, measuring, writing…

A peaceful almost-silence.

But there was only turbulence in Hermione's mind. She frowned into the cauldron, on edge at Snape's passively-threatening presence in the room. She desperately wanted to know how closely Snape was watching her. Was he assessing her every move? Was he only glancing at her occasionally? Did he not need to look to see?

Throughout the session, he only gave one jibe. One spiteful jibe which sent her into a fury.

"No questions from the know-it-all? What a surprise," He gave a wicked sneer. "I thought you would have been waving your hand from the first minute."

At the sound of his voice, she inhaled. Sharp. Shallow.

Of course she had questions. Of course she wanted to ask them. There was a Potions Master right there with knowledge and experience she didn't have. But she was suppressing that urge, ignoring, shutting it out, cutting it off. She had already been irritated by herself and his stupid rule about silence, irritated and exasperated, but now that easily escalated to anger – almost outrage. How dare he taunt her when he knew! He knew her nature well enough from the classroom, and he dared to ridicule her, to rile her ire.

Her fuse was very short at that moment.

But she also knew what he was doing; he was trying to create a reason to throw her out. Even better, let her provide the reason. But she wouldn't give him the pleasure. She was going to shove her anger aside, not letting it boil over and ruin it all. She had been bullied enough in her short life to know handle such asinine taunts.

She forced herself to shrug casually. "No, sir."

His lips thinned at her lack of reaction.

"Really, nothing? Surely you have questions. Why, just earlier today, you were practically jumping in your seat, that arm hitting Longbottom."

_I certainly was not!_

"No, sir," She repeated calmly while seething inside, but she couldn't – mustn't – explode. Control… Still, she couldn't help but slip in a retort. "However, if you allow me to—"

"Miss Granger," He cut her off. "Five points. Do not argue with me." _Insolent girl._

"Yes, Professor," She gritted.

"We shall make this clear. You will ask no questions while you are here. Morning or night. You will keep your head down. You will make no mistakes. You will follow my rules. You. Will. Not. Bother me any more than you are already by simply being in these rooms. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," She almost snarled.

"Good. Get back to work!" He snapped.

_Oooo, that…man! No, bastard! Acting like a five year-old child! Like bloody Malfoy!_ It was then, that she stopped holding any notion of respect for him – he didn't deserve any in these sessions, no matter how brilliant or brave. Inside these rooms, she would be a wall of the hardest marble. She wouldn't be stopped by the likes of him.

This was war, between and beyond the two of them. Her silent defiance against his malicious arrogance.

* * *

><p>"Harry, where's Hermione?" Ron asked.<p>

Harry raised his head and shrugged worriedly. Although curfew had just passed while Ron and Harry played Exploding Snap in the Gryffindor common room, they had yet to see their friend enter through the portrait hole.

Hermione had disappeared immediately after their last class, offering the single word "Library" before rushing off to do god knows what. The two had been puzzled but thought nothing of it after five years of such behavior, but when she didn't turn up to dinner for the second night in a row, they grew concerned.

"She's been acting weird lately," Harry frowned. "For the past few weeks, actually. It's like third year all over again, except we know she doesn't have the time turner."

They had noticed a drastic change in her between the beginning and end of summer. During the several months they hadn't seen her, she had become more frantic in her actions, like she was in constant hurry. She seemed more determined, more driven, more _single-minded_, but they couldn't comprehend what it was that was driving her so intensely.

She hadn't shared anything with them either. And when she did, last week, she had said some gibberish that neither understood. It was as if at some point over the summer, she had begun speaking a different language. Her nagging had decreased, she was often distracted in class, and when she did speak, it was always about work – work they could not decipher.

He recalled images of her during the past month. Distracted. Impatient. Worried. Frowning. Rushed. Glaring. Worried, again. Scowling. Eager. Hasty. Irritated. Haggard. _Haggard._

He wondered whether she got any sleep at all.

"She keeps mentioning Snape and that project," Ron said. "We know she doesn't like him, but she's been bouncing between being thrilled and being sick with worry when it comes to him."

Ron narrowed his eyes. He thought about the number of times they had asked if she was alright since the beginning of the year, and it was a distressing number. He knew it wasn't something stupid like the monthly things girls went through.

"That project has something to do with the war. I wish I had listened to her last week."

They now both regretted.

"We should start figuring out our own plan with Remus and the Order," Harry said suddenly.

"Won't we need Hermione?"

"No, she's busy enough as it is. We'll do it ourselves," Harry said resolutely, but his reasoning wasn't so simple.

"_Don't you realize how wrong this is?"_ She had said.

Hermione would never help them even if she had the time, at least not without coercion. And she would fight them the entire way even after they had her cooperation.

"Alright. But not tonight. We should at least see where she is."

"I'll go get the Map," Harry stood and began heading towards the boys' dorms when the portrait opened and Hermione flew in, face red and out of breath.

"I cannot believe him!" She burst out. "The nerve!"

"Hermione?"

"Last night, he was merely goading me with words. Tonight, he held me back past curfew, and then when I was on my way back here, he swooped in and took points off for being out past curfew!" She vented while pacing in front of them. "I don't know how he got ahead of me, but it was intentional! _'On patrol'_, my arse."

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ron added another tally to his count.

"It's Professor Snape. He's being ridiculous, but I can't say anything because I need him. It's only been two days, and I already want to strangle him," She sighed before calming down and stopped her pacing to face them. "How are you two?"

"We're fine," Harry answered darkly. "But why do _need_ the git?"

"Because I need the resources, and he has them," She snapped, then froze. Her expression turned apologetic. "Sorry, just a little stressed."

_You call that 'just a little', Hermione?_

"It's alright. I think you should get some rest," Ron suggested gently. "Maybe you'll feel better after a night's sleep…"

She sighed. "Yes…I'll do that. Thanks for letting me yell at you two," Hermione smiled apologetically and disappeared up the stairs.

Ron and Harry frowned at each other.

"Yeah, Harry, you're right. She's stressed enough without us adding to her problems."


	6. Of Silence

**Of Silence **

* * *

><p><em>Ron and Harry frowned at each other.<em>

"_Yeah, you're right. She's stressed enough without us adding to her problems."_

* * *

><p>Hermione planted her forehead on a smooth, wooden table with closed eyes, groaning near silently. She was in the library two days after her first session – Wednesday, an off day – darting back and forth between the bookcases. She had come directly after classes to search for warding and shield magic but found only irritation toward the wizarding world.<p>

Of course, she had found books on the topic. Several useful ones, in fact, but none of them matched her need. Most wards were cast for the purpose warning, trapping, or incapacitating. To damage one's sight, hearing, touch, smell, and sometimes mental processes, or to alert the ward caster of breach. She couldn't help but wonder why wizards always leaned towards the dramatic. Some of these wards were vicious! The mildest of wards pricked and the most dangerous wards she could find in these books mentioned mangling of body parts and death… but the common factor between all of them was that in the end, people would always notice the ward.

She tilted her face to rest her cheek against the cool surface to study the space around her hidden corner. The contrast in temperature on her face helped calm her frustration. She wasn't trying to punish someone for touching her notes; she was looking for subtle methods to divert and disguise. To her dismay, the books on such topics were all locked away in the Restricted Section.

"Are you ill?"

Hermione jumped with a muffled yelp and toppled off the chair at a sudden whispered voice behind her.

Scrambling up hastily in embarrassment, she scanned the surroundings.

"Up here," The voice directed with a chuckle.

She tilted her head and was faced with a portrait of a boy – no, a man; no, a boy – in midnight blue robes, peering down at her from his armchair in what looked like his personal library. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't define his age. It may have been his youthful grey eyes behind half-moon spectacles which she noticed only after several moments. Perhaps it was the disheveled, dark hair against the creased forehead. There were endless contradictions to his figure, and Hermione could only be certain of his impression of timeless knowledge and omniscience.

"Do you happen to be related to Professor Dumbledore?" She blurted out as she cautiously slipped back on her chair.

"Hah, no!" He snorted and gave a mocking bow. "Lord Evander Lucian Bradwardine at your service."

"It's nice to meet you, sir…"

"Calling me 'sir' just makes me feel ancient," He smirked and winked. "I'd appreciate it if you would address me as Evander."

"Erm…it's nice to meet you, Evander."

"Now, it's only polite to introduce yourself, girl."

"My name is Hermione Granger. I'm in my sixth year at Hogwarts," Hermione stared up at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

"Very good. So, what are you sulking about?"

"…the portraits in the library talk?" She choked out.

"Of course we do! ...what did you think? That they shuffle the mute, defective ones into the library to maintain the peace and quiet?"

"Well, no…but… Then why do you never speak?"

"We don't speak because, for the last several decades, your irritable librarian has threatened to permanently silence us if we encourage any conversation in here," He sniffed disapprovingly and wrinkled his sharp nose. "Once upon a time, students and library portraits held engaging discussions on every subject available!"

"Madam Pince? I…guess I can imagine her saying that. But what do you mean about permanently silencing the portraits?"

"Caught your interest did it? What do you think it means?"

"Umm, with wizarding portraits, the paintings themselves are not confined to their portraits even though they are tied to it. So, she either means to silence your painting or your portrait. I assume it's impossible to silence the subject because the magic won't stay on you as you switch locations," She reasoned, the intellectual challenge distracting her from her surprise. "So she means to silence the physical portrait itself."

Hermione fell deeper in thought.

"Exactly! And if our portraits are silenced, we can't hear anything when we visit each other in here. I wouldn't even hear my own thoughts!"

"But I've never heard of any such spell that's able to silence a portrait. Or we would have done so immediately in the House of Black."

"Ah, do you mean that Walburga Black?" He snickered. "I've heard much about her from the former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus. But no, you wouldn't have known any such method because it is a unique quality of the Hogwarts Castle."

"The castle?" She looked thoughtful. "Is it because Hogwarts is a sentient entity?"

"That is correct. If Irma asked, with sufficient intention and sound reasoning on a good day, the castle might be in a pleasant enough mood to grant her request. We doubt she would succeed, but she has done the impossible once before."

"The impossible?"

"Yes. About forty years ago, when monthly dueling tournaments were still held on the grounds, an unexpectedly powerful spell flew wayward and crashed through a library window. The explosion decimated that corner of the library, over there. Only the tables and the Romance section were destroyed, but the Romance section happened to be Irma's favorite... At that moment, her anger was so acute and her will so potent that she convinced Hogwarts to change the library windows from glass to iron," He nodded gravely to himself. "She is a formidable woman."

A small grin slipped past Hermione's lips as he spoke. Just as with his face, his speech seemed untied to any age. He could sound like an impish boy in once sentence and a scholarly man in the next. It was simply fascinating.

"And how did you change it back to glass?"

"Hogwarts only agreed to return the glass when the Headmaster, along with every professor and one quarter of the student body, requested it for the third time. And it was on St. Valentine's Day, the castle's second-favorite day after Christmas."

Hermione burst into gasping laughter.

"Shhh! Keep quiet, girl!" He scanned the space around them.

"S-sorry," She curbed the last of her laughs.

"Now, back to the main question. What are you sulking about?"

"I'm not sulking. I'm looking for wards and shields to protect my notes. Not like those in '_Warding Against the Wicked' _or _'Warding for the Wicked' _or even in _'Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes'_. Those are much too offensive. I merely want to keep the contents secret from others. But for whatever reason, there isn't any information on the type of wards I'm looking for. The books are just… missing!" She cried in outrage.

"That's because the instructors foresaw students misusing such wards and placed those reference books in the Restricted Section. Only seventh years can access those," Evander explained. "Subtle magic is the most dangerous kind."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head back onto the table. "So next approach, then. I'll have to look for mentions and references to the spells."

"Well, get on with it, girl," His teasing chuckle went unheard as he sent her on her way.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Hermione returned with a large stack of levitated books trailing after her.<p>

"Welcome back. It looks like you've gathered quite a haul," Evander greeted her with a boyish smirk.

"I've picked up everything from charms to history to defense. You never know where you might find something," She said excitedly.

"And this!" She proudly held up a thin paperback with a crisp, burgundy cover. "This is the account of an incident seventy years ago when a Ministry worker lost a large number of files in the Muggle world, and how they've made it mandatory to conceal those files against Muggles."

"Smart girl."

She plopped down in her chair and opened the first book with determination, a fresh parchment ready and a quill in hand.

The painting smiled serenely down at her before taking a quick trip to chat with the portrait of the Scholarly Knight on the other side of the library.

* * *

><p>"Evander, why did you decide to speak to me?" Hermione suddenly broke the silence.<p>

"I've seen quite a lot of you in the last several years. We all have," Evander replied as he gestured to the rest of the library. "But today, you looked more frustrated than usual, and I was curious as to why. It gave me an excuse to finally talk to you. I haven't seen someone who appreciates knowledge as you do in many years."

"And I was bored," He confessed sheepishly.

"You were bored…" Hermione repeated skeptically.

"Even the dead experience boredom, you know. Why do you think Peeves plays pranks and the Fat Lady gossips?"

"Why don't you just speak to students one-on-one, like this, or outside the library?"

"I could, but children these days are so unruly, not to mention idiotic – most aren't worth talking to. And you never know whether it might get back to Irma through the gossip chain."

"I suppose I should feel honored... But you said so yourself, that it's unlikely she could convince the castle to silence you. Why should you be afraid of her?"

"You're right, but it's not just that. She truly hates the portraits. Or more specifically, she truly hates me," He said wryly. "I may have caused her some…trouble when she was a student here. She threatened to burn my portrait as soon as she became Librarian."

"So you're saying Madam Pince wants to silence all portraits as revenge against you?" Hermione stifled her grin.

"Well… yes," He replied uncomfortably. "I don't feel bad for what I did, though. Quite proud, in fact. But I do feel a bit of remorse for her treatment towards my fellow portraits."

"What did you do to her?" She asked curiously.

A vicious, smug smirk snapped onto his face. "Ahh, it was grand! One of my best memories as a painting. I won't tell you what, though. See if you can find it in '_Hogwarts: A History'._ They didn't include names, but it has its own page – that's how magnificent it was. No, don't give me that look. You're not getting it out of me."

"Fine," Hermione huffed.

* * *

><p>Hermione leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.<p>

"Giving up already?"

"No… but everything just keeps leading to dead ends. There certainly are mentions of such spells, but only descriptions. None of them mention names or further references. And since I don't have any reference texts on this end, I can't connect the traits to a specific spell."

Her eyes suddenly snapped open. "Do you know any spells that fit my requirements?"

"I do, but I won't tell you. Working it out on your own is a key part of the quest for knowledge," He said with mock sageness.

Hermione shot him a reproachful glare. "I'm starting to see why Madam Pince hates you."

"It's all part of the charm," He winked. "So, any further thoughts?"

"I considered invisible ink, but there's the risk of people mistaking it for blank parchment and using it. There was also the letter-scrambling charm, but a _Finite Incantatum_ could easily negate that."

"Perhaps I should just ask Professor McGonagall or Flitwick for a pass to the Restricted Section," She sighed, "But that would defeat the purpose of secrecy…"

"Or, you could create your own spells," Evander stated simply.

"I could, but it would take too long. I need to get this done by the end of this week."

"It doesn't actually take so long, you know. Have you tried before?"

"Of course I have," She said confidently.

"How did you go about it?"

"I took a spell and added or altered it. The concept seems simple, but it took me several days to get each of them right."

"Have you tried to combine two spells instead of working off of just one?

"I thought about it, but that would take longer since it deals with breaking down two spells rather than just one."

"No, in reality, combining spells is easier than changing one because you're utilizing knowledge already available instead of developing a new effect."

Hermione paused for a moment. "…can you teach me how?"

"I can, but I won't. Like I said, working it out on your own is a key part of the quest for knowledge," He said mischievously. "Besides, you already have experience with the harder type of the two just mentioned."

"It's now clear to me why Madam Pince hates you," She huffed again.

* * *

><p>"Alright, here's the reference to the Notice-Me-Not Charm. And this one's the letter scrambling charm. Oh, and the Permanent Sticking Charm," Hermione listed. "Evander, do you think these are enough?"<p>

"What are you asking me for?" He looked up from the book in his lap and smiled mysteriously.

"Because I want your opinion."

"Well, those seem to be sufficient, but _you_ want to be able to see it right?" He hinted.

"Oh…! I'll be right back," She scrambled off.

He returned to his book after letting out a snort.

* * *

><p>Hermione looked up at him excitedly.<p>

"What now, girl?" Evander said impatiently.

"I've finally combined the Notice-Me-Not to the letter scrambling charm. The hard part was finding how to knit them together. I can keep most of the wand movements but I need to rearrange them in a sequence so it doesn't react violently. I can also eliminate redundant or similar movements," She explained with bright eyes. "The wonderful part is, I won't need an incantation because there's no way to combine the two. This is wordless magic!"

"Good girl."

"And I've keyed the letters to arrange themselves into History of Magic notes. No one would be interested in _that,_" She went back to prodding her wand at the now frazzled parchment in front of her.

Several minutes later, Hermione frowned and jabbed her wand violently. And again.

"Hmm, this Permanent Sticking Charm is for object to object, but I'm attempting permanently stick magic to object. It's not cooperating right here, at this flick." She softened her jab to a poke.

"Maybe I could use part of some spell that prevents spells from disappearing. Evander? Any thoughts?"

"You're on the right track. Also think through how the _Impervius_ makes an object waterproof. That _swish_."

She waited for him to say more, but he merely winked and left the portrait. She glared at the empty frame and began breaking down the spell.

Not long after, she let out a quiet 'oh' and a grin at a moment of insight, and then went on to key the spell to allow only her to see through it. Evander, back in his portrait, smiled to himself as Hermione cut a small piece of her hair and began to magically weave it into the parchment while referencing a large tome.

"Evander! Here it is!" Hermione presented proudly. "The wand movements are a bit complicated, but it works! A triple defense of Notice-Me-Not, letter scramble, and keyed to reveal its contents only to me. I also layered a full Impervius on top. Thank you for mentioning that."

"I knew you could do it," He grinned. "See? In merely three hours."

"You were right. It's so much simpler to mix and match. Oh, no, I've got to go. It's almost closing time. I'll see you…Friday," She returned the grin and rushed back to the Gryffindor Tower.

"Of course I'm right," He said smugly to the emply room.

* * *

><p>The next day, after a grueling morning stirring Skele-Gro for two hours, Hermione sat eagerly in Transfiguration. She was about to test her warded notes on Ron and Harry who were sitting next to her frantically finishing the class's assigned reading.<p>

The night before, she had gathered all of her notes to apply the ward meticulously onto each parchment, one after another, until around the tenth time when she tired of the redundancy. She had frowned at her idiocy and decided to buy one large journal for her notes that Saturday in Hogsmeade so she would only need to cast the ward once. But that was a thought for later.

But this was the moment of truth. If it didn't work, she would need to rework the spell from the beginning.

Ron finally shut his text.

And… Now.

"_Oh no!_ These are the _wrong notes_! I accidentally brought _**these**_ History of Magic notes with me instead!" She exclaimed loudly and deliberately, looking intently at the stack of parchment in front of her with an exaggerated expression of dismay. She waited for a moment before looking at the boys, who were staring back at her in confusion.

"Hermione, what are you talking about?" Ron broke the silence.

"_These,_" She said without gesturing.

"Hermione…where?"

_Notice-Me-Not a success! _She thought.

"Here, look. These notes," She grabbed the parchment in front of her and shoved them in their faces.

"Oh. _'The Great One-Hundred Seventeenth Red Giant Territorial War of North Western Germany in the Early Eighth Century'_? Is that Monday's?"

"Yes, yes, that's right," Hermione laughed inwardly in triumph. "Oh well, I'll just restart on a blank parchment."

She snatched the notes back and cheerfully waited for Professor McGonagall to begin her lecture, almost humming despite her embarrassing tone-deafness.

* * *

><p>The first week of Granger's research project had passed without any incident. In fact, aside from the use of levitation on the first day, she had not said or done anything wrong. It was such pity that breathing wasn't something he could call her out on.<p>

Severus had observed her closely during both mornings and evenings and couldn't help but appreciate her technique. She was meticulous and efficient even when it was obvious that she was only half-awake in the mornings. It seemed like an innate quality.

And with her own research, she was extremely precise. Almost as precise as he was.

She had started small, with variations of the Boil Cure Potion. She made multiple batches with minute changes to each. Changing the stirring speed. Altering the timing. Adjusting the temperature.

Her approach was perfectly logical.

He couldn't not be impressed. Even his previous independent study students, all of them exceptional, couldn't compare. He admitted she had skill, talent, and the potential Minerva had mentioned.

He shook his head. There was nothing to do but concede defeat. With the increasing pressure from his Order and Death Eater activities on top of his teaching duties, he couldn't afford to waste resources; there were no longer enough hours to the days.

He would back off on the insults and stop provoking her. Though, not by too much.

* * *

><p>Hermione walked down to the dungeons on Monday morning in a surprisingly good mood. The weekend had been productive. She had transferred all of her notes into a sturdy journal and secured it with her protection ward, found a library reference to complex ancient magical rituals, and taught Neville how to successfully brew a Sleeping Draught.<p>

Quite an accomplishment.

"Good morning, Hermione."

She jumped at a cheerful voice in the corridor she had thought was empty.

"Evander! Stop sneaking up on me."

Evander was strolling through the painting she had just passed, dressed in perfectly tailored burgundy robes which gave him a refined look.

"What a pleasant morning… it is. You seem more awake than… usual," He said in broken speech as he jumping from portrait to portrait to followed her.

"Did you get bored again? Why don't you go bother Headmaster Nigellus."

"He lost a game of wizard poker to Dilys and isn't… allowed to move for the day," He snickered. "You're the next most… interesting person in this castle. But talking while… traveling is getting rather annoying."

"You're the one who insists on talking," She said as she sped up her pace. "You're lucky this corridor has so many paintings."

As they closed in on the dungeons, he said mournfully, "Well, this is the last painting before the dungeons."

"You should consider carrying a portrait with you. That way, we can talk anytime I want!" He called after her.

She snorted but didn't look back.

Upon her arrival, Snape grunted and led her into the laboratory as usual but didn't hand out his typical commands of tedious tasks.

"You will brew the Headache Potion. Set up on that far counter."

"Sir…?" She stared at him in surprise.

"Miss Granger, do make an effort not to sound like an idiot," He said sardonically. "You heard me. Headache Potion."

He waved a hand absently towards the corner and quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, Professor," She grinned.

He acknowledged her enough to let her brew! Not just chopping, stirring, or scrubbing, but brewing an entire potion. She hadn't expected this to happen so quickly; she had thought it would take at least a month to prove herself.

Good.

She could begin the next phase in one week.


	7. We All Fall Down

**We All Fall Down **

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Shandy Barker, was a large, boisterous man in his seventies who, had retired from Auror services just five years prior. He carried his wide frame with a straight back, powerful shoulders, and stocky legs, reminding Hermione of a gorilla – a gorilla with a developing pot belly. It looked as if the five years after retirement had treated him well.

He loved to share his past Auror exploits with the class, telling one at the beginning of each class. He would always begin with a "Class, welcome to the Barker House!" followed by a loud, bellowing laugh. Then he would launch right into the story, telling it with pride and enthusiasm. In addition to his exaggerated facial expressions, he would act along with the tale, jumping, dodging, casting wand sparks for curses, and almost anything else possible without bringing down the classroom. It was more like a theater performance – quite an excellent one, in fact. They were exciting, thrilling, entertaining, and a ridiculous waste of the first hour of class.

If the stories had been told differently, they could have learned strategy in dealing with Dark Arts and difficult opponents, but he told them merely as that. Stories. Barker would have been almost as useless as Lockhart, but fortunately, he was a proper teacher after his tale. His stories were also proven to be true and his own.

That Wednesday, he was regaling the Gryffindor and Slytherin class with another story, this time about fighting in a cave.

"…the man blasted the ceiling, and the heavy rocks tumbled upon of us! My partner and I only got away by the skin of our teeth!" He leaped across the room. "The other side, however, was nowhere near as skilled. A gigantic slab of rock fell loose right above them and squashed them flat! I almost fell to the ground laughing!"

Hermione groaned inwardly. _What idiot laughs in a situation like that?_

She finally had enough.

"…shooting curses left and right," Red sparks flew from his outstretched wand. "The ground began rumbling like in an earthquake! But that didn't deter us. The two of us were powerful enough to drive dozens of men to retreat—"

"Professor Barker," Hermione interrupted loudly. When she received no response, she repeated, "Professor Barker."

"…yes? Ahh… Miss Granger?" His arm floundered.

"Could you explain the strategy of your battle to us? I am interested in knowing how it was planned out and how we should respond in such situations."

The man looked at her quizzically as if he couldn't understand why she would stop him for such a trivial reason. The rest of the class glared at her for cutting off the building excitement. She merely smiled back innocently, with bright eyes and curiosity emanating from her. She knew a few things about acting, as well.

"Well, yes," He paused as if to gather his thoughts. "The strategy was to shatter the first layer of their defenses. Like I said earlier, we threw curse after curse and they were destroyed in mere in minutes!" He regained his momentum. "We then burst into the cave and shocked them into inaction, giving us the seconds needed to begin the assault! We may have been outnumbered, but our aim was true and they crumbled…"

Hermione sighed. Both Barker and the class were happy again, but the lecture hadn't improved at all.

_So basically, his only strategy is to charge with brute force._

"Professor Barker," She cut him off again.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" He said with a flash of annoyance.

"Could you teach us those _incredible_ spells you used to _valiantly_ defeat those _powerful _opponents? I'm certain your _fascinated_ students would all like to learn from your _brilliant_ technique so we can someday become as _magnificent _as you are," She held her breath and waited anxiously for his reaction. She had far exceeded her daily quota of italicized words and didn't think her dignity could survive another attempt.

Then his face lit up like the sun. "Ah! A true warrior in the making!"

"My technique comes from years of grueling training! But I was always the cream of the crop. You know of Mad-Eye Moody, yes? He was nothing compared to me!" He let out a loud laugh. "A weakling! Retired early, too, that wimp," Another bellow. "I constantly beat him in Auror assessments! My missions were ten times more dangerous than his."

"They called me Bold-Beast Barker!"

Hermione couldn't' stifle a loud snort, but he was too immersed in his monologue to notice.

"Let me demonstrate several spells. This is the Leg Locker Curse! Watch carefully, everyone," He stared intensely at his wand and, after an incantation and two sharp flicks, a blue light shot out. "Did you see that? Here class, I'll show you again… See that power? That precision? Don't tell me that wasn't the most impressive form you've ever seen!"

She rolled her eyes and gave up. At least he was now showing them the spells, albeit simple ones, instead of merely ranting about them.

* * *

><p>It was his third time in Egypt this week, but Severus still hadn't gotten any information on Aswad Ahmet. Over the weekend, he had confirmed the man's attendance at the potions conference ten years ago, as well as the organization which sent him. He had been right about the Ahmet belonging to the Egyptian Ministry's Department of Experimental Magic where he had worked for eight years.<p>

Next, Severus had broken into the Egyptian Ministry to access its employee records but Ahmet's files had been protected by wards equivalent in power to wards which the English Ministry reserved only for the highest profile cases. He had spent two nights trying to unravel the unrelenting wards but found he was unable to breach them without setting them off. That made him even more suspicious.

Tonight, he was back to look in the archives for research projects conducted during Ahmet's tenure. Those would not be as painstakingly protected.

He was wearing black, magically reinforced robes with the hood covering half his face. Underneath the hood he had a black faceless mask fastened to his face to prevent any chance of revealing his identity. If he could recognize Ahmet's face by a few glances from ten years ago, someone would be able to easily do the same in much less time.

He concealed himself within the shadows outside the entrance wards to wait for the guards' shift change. The security was much tighter here than at the English Ministry's; he would only have two seconds to pass through.

As the midnight guard came into view, Severus cast a third layer of disillusionment and crept forward silently. He braced himself just outside the edge of the wards for the guards to switch wand signatures. The previous guard waved his wand to sever his connection.

Now!

He dashed forward, aided by the faintest gust of magic for speed.

One second remaining.

There were ten more feet between him and the clear zone.

He added another burst of speed, then dived and rolled just before the wards were reestablished. A harsh zap in the air, confirming the wards, stung him just as he hit the marble ground.

He was in.

From there, Severus crept carefully down a dark, wide hall until he reached the stairs heading down to the basement. There was another line of wards here, though weaker. He took his wand and began to gently peel apart the complex layers to form a hole large enough for him to duck through. It was a long and tedious process, one which he would need to repeat several more times that night.

He finally stopped in front of the door reading Ministry Archives in the tenth floor basement. He needed to hurry; a guard would be patrolling through the hall in forty-five minutes. A slow sweep of his wand revealed three powerful locking spells, two alarms, a leg-severing hex, an eye-gouging curse, a flame-throwing spell, and a strong sticking charm combined with another alarm.

Wait.

He almost didn't detect the bone shattering curse woven into the door handle.

_Damn._ His informant hadn't told him about this one. _This must be new._

It was fortunate that he was so well versed in the Dark Arts and magic disassembly. He had seen these spells or similar ones before. In minutes, he had gotten through all except the bone shattering curse. This one, he had never encountered before. At first, it looked like a typical curse, but another sweep showed that it was constructed in the most random and bizarre manner. The magic almost looked tangled without any visible beginning or end.

He sat back on his heels for a moment and swore. What the hell was he supposed to do with this mess of a curse?

Severus raised his wand and began teasing the strands of magic apart. If it was replaced daily, there must be a way to cast and end the curse; he just needed to find it, quickly. Maybe the ends were buried deep within, and he just needed to locate them.

He poked and prodded while periodically recasting the revealing spell. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his face.

Then he saw it, and it was disengaged. Rather anticlimactic if you asked him.

Only twenty minutes before the patrol.

As he entered the cavernous, dark room, he saw rows upon rows of bookcases packed with files. At that moment, he couldn't be thankful enough for having thought to manipulate that idiot Ministry employee into giving him a blueprint. Otherwise, he'd have to come back every night for a month. Severus cast a _Lumos_ and headed straight to the back of the room to stand in front of an inconspicuous shelf. He grimaced when he saw another ward and worked to counter it.

Fifteen minutes. He would need at least five minutes to replace the wards; he was running out of time.

As soon as he was able to touch the files, he quickly flipped through folder after folder to locate any project connected to Ahmet's name.

_Uses of Combining Solar Energy and Blood Magic – Ahmet_

_Effect of Sacrificial Offerings on Blood Rituals – Ahmet, Anderson, and Smith_

_Artificial Amplification of Elemental Magic – Ahmet and Rothstein_

He was disgusted by what he saw. They were all horrifyingly barbaric, and there was eight years' worth of similar research. He shrunk the folders from the entire row of bookcases into a small box within his pocket, refilled the shelves with conjured folders and blank parchment, replaced wards, and hurried out of the room.

Exactly five minutes until patrol.

Staring again at the Ministry Archives door, he began to rapidly cast the protective wards. It was infinitely easier to cast than to disengage. All he had to do was recall the structure of each spell he had deconstructed. Severus had the wards back up just in time to hastily disillusion himself as the guard rounded the corner, whistling an unrecognizable tune. He stood frozen, pressed against the wall, barely breathing, as the man walked past him, mere inches away from brushing robes. The man stopped in front of the door to check the wards. Severus waited. The tense minutes felt like hours, but when the guard found nothing out of place, he went back to whistling and continued strolling down the hall.

_Too close._

Severus made his way back up to the lobby to wait for the morning shift change. There was an hour until the change, but he didn't dare push his luck and snoop even more. He wasn't going to risk losing information he had already acquired because he had gotten greedy.

It was five in the morning by the time he left the Ministry. Dawn was minutes away, and he had to get out of the country before daylight.

Severus crept within the shadows of buildings, still disillusioned, looking for a hidden place to apparate. He needed to hurry; he was beginning to shimmer from the rising temperature of the humid summer heat as the sky brightened.

He slipped into an alley, ready to apparate, when a curse from the direction of the entrance sliced him in the back. He recoiled, instinctively ducked, and shot back a curse.

_How did they see me?_

Ignoring the sting, he turned around to escape the narrow space but groaned in frustration. The exit was now blocked by a solid wall of steel. He threw a quick _Reducto_ at the wall but only scorched and slightly dented the metal. He spun back with a growl and ran deeper into the alley. His disillusionment spell had fallen, and curses rained down on him from above, not giving him a chance to apparate. He sensed at least four attackers. They were closing in, utilizing roofs of buildings to assault him from all sides.

Severus retaliated with ease, shielding and returning curses wordlessly. He heard a loud thud of a body hitting the ground.

_What do they want?_

Suddenly, he found himself in an open plaza surrounded by buildings, confronted by seven more men, already attacking.

A trap!

He leapt forward. Another hex sliced into his side just as he set off an explosion in front of him. He immediately threw up another shield before turning shooting a _Sectumsempra_ to his left, which was answered by a guttural cry.

Now, he was surrounded on all sides and above by men wearing black robes with a yellow ring around the right sleeve.

_Shit. Gangs. Of all the alleys I pick, it had to be one with territorial hostiles._

There were men all around him; the clearing was filled with shouts of incantations and pain. They were skilled but didn't seem to work well as a team; men were being knocked down from spells cast by their allies. He supposed their prey usually didn't last so long as he. The ground was littered with bodies, most of them from his curses, Severus noticed smugly. That, however, also meant these men would become increasingly ruthless. He grimaced; he would have to use wandless magic if he wanted to get out alive, but his exhaustion was going to speed up the drain of magic.

He needed an exit, but all paths were blocked. Well then, he'd just have to create one.

He dodged and shot a succession of powerful _Reductos_ at a wall with his wand while viciously shoving his left arm, palm open, behind him. A wall of magic few out from his hand and he heard the crunch of bodies thrown backwards into a wall.

_How many left?_

The air was filled with colored flashes and dust. Madness. Chaos. Pain. Adrenaline.

Severus gritted his teeth as he was hit twice in the front. He felt a rib, possibly two, snap but didn't stop running toward the hole he had blasted. His reinforced billowing robes provided some protection, but he was losing too much blood from his dozen or two injuries for it to matter.

Suddenly, the very first slice he had taken by surprise started to sear into his back, spreading upward. _Shit. Dark magic?_ It was driving into his spine, sending jolts of pain through his frame with every movement. He clenched his teeth and shoved the pain to the back of his mind. There would be enough time later to feel the pain, but only if he came out alive.

He needed to avoid being hit or he would be dead in minutes. With his wand, he threw up another shield and then immediately disillusioned himself. His lips curled into a feral smile as howls of outrage and confusion rose around him. The curses around him began flying chaotically, causing more screams of pain around the clearing.

_Gods, how stupid can they get?_

He shot another burst of wandless magic at the surrounding men as he weaved between the men blocking his path.

Then, a spell slammed into the side of his head. His vision failed at the same time as his disillusionment spell. Swaying sideways, he slammed into a man near him and grabbed his arm for support while continuing stumble forward, almost tripping over a dead body. The man threw a curse at his stomach but just missed as Severus swayed to the opposite side.

Luck.

He blindly kneed the man and landed a kick to his groin, causing the man to collapse with a whimper. Severus ducked and crouched while throwing out his arm haphazardly to release a torrent of magic around him, buying him some time for his vision return. Grey blobs became fuzzy figures, and finally, when his eyes cleared, he saw a man charging at him from the left. Severus reflexively thrust forward his fist, reinforced with magic, into the man's face and cringed at the loud crunch of smashed bones.

In a different situation, he would have grabbed the man as a hostage to cover his own body, but this crowd didn't seem to care for their own.

Insane.

He didn't bother shielding himself anymore, focusing instead on decimating enemy numbers.

_Flagrate! Confringo! Expulso! Reducto!_

He needed to get out _now_. In a flurry of black robes and fury, he blew up several men with a fiery explosion. He was about to set off another explosion when he took several hits to his outstretched arm, almost causing him to drop his wand.

_Shit, shit, shit._

His exit was still a distance away, but his body was failing. Several more curses slashed his back, one of them overlapping the original injury. He let out a roar of pain while thrusting out his left arm again, this time waving a clawed-shaped hand horizontally. Another blast of power sliced through the men to his left as if a hundred knives had torn across their front and kicked up a cloud of sand at the same time, obscuring the vision of anyone in that direction. He needed to stop using wandless magic or he would fall into a coma soon.

A ball of fire shot at his face from his right.

Duck!

There was never any time to regain his breath.

His aching body.

His pounding head.

His shaking legs.

His dwindling magic.

_Mustn't stop!_

He had almost reached the wall when a curse from behind took out his right knee. Severus crumbled and slammed to the ground, jarring his broken ribs and snapping the forearm of his wand arm. The arm was useless now. He immediately flipped over onto his back and threw his remaining arm out, the hand flying open from a fist. A powerful force spread upwards, killing the men on the roofs.

_Still too many. More reinforcements?_

…_I'm flattered…_

As he broke into a hacking cough, Severus knew he didn't have the energy to pick up his battered and broken body off the ground. Through the haze of excruciating pain, he grabbed his wand with the still-functioning left arm and tried to focus on apparating, but suddenly, he saw a deep purple flash speeding towards him.

He had one last thought before blacking out.

_Fuck—_

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: How did I do? Like it? Hate it? Review!_**

**_Oh, and I think the name Shandy means boisterous. It's also an alcoholic drink which has beer mixed with citrus-y soda._**


	8. Real Men Don't Cry

**Real Men Don't Cry **

* * *

><p><em>He had one last thought before succumbing to blackness.<em>

_Fuck._

* * *

><p>A very sleepy but equally determined Hermione Granger marched down to the dungeons.<p>

She had been waiting impatiently since her last research session to return to the dungeons for another chance to observe Snape's actions. Would he be as friendly – no, friendly wasn't the right word – would he be as tolerant, trusting, accepting of her skill, as he had been the last several days?

There was no doubt that Snape was the most volatile man she had ever met – not that she made a habit of befriending such characters. His mood could swing from icy calm to blistering rage quicker than she could blink, and she was rarely able to identify the trigger in time to dodge.

The only reprieve was that oftentimes it wasn't directed towards her.

Usually, the cause was an interruption by a student or a dangerous mistake in the classroom or the ridiculous incompetence of his classes.

Ever since she began spending more time with him, she gradually understood the validity of his anger. She had heard him groaning at the horrid, horrid essays, and she had seen him glare at the vials of failed class-brewed potions.

Only now did she realize how difficult it was to teach potions to those he called 'dunderheads'.

However, lately his attitude towards her had changed. While in the past he would criticize her for potential mistakes, now he ignored her as if she barely existed in class. He hadn't even called her out on helping Neville prevent his usual potions explosions.

She had simply disappeared from his line of sight, and that was perfectly fine with her. It only showed his tolerance – or whatever it was called – for her existence. She just needed to test its consistency.

Thus she had approached Snape's domain with the resolve to push against his limits.

Hermione rapped solidly on the door and waited for Snape's gruff, morning "Enter". However, it didn't come; there was not a single sound from within the room. She furrowed her brows, puzzled.

Not wanting to seem insistent, she waited a full minute before knocking again, this time slightly louder. She waited.

Nothing.

Perhaps he was already in the lab. She knew he occasionally fell into his own world when brewing, not registering anything around him with glazed eyes. The first time she saw him like that, she had almost gaped at the sight.

Hermione waited another several minutes, leaning against the wall next to the door with growing unease. Worry was catching hold within her, warring with her conviction that everything was normal, that he had merely overslept like anyone would occasionally.

But doubt of the normalcy was intensifying because Snape was a man of discipline.

After a moment's hesitation, she pressed lightly on the door with one hand, and when it didn't move, she added the other hand to increase the pressure, only it didn't budge when usually it would swing open smoothly and quietly.

She stepped back in alarm.

She was now certain that he wasn't there in his office or lab, and something was telling her that he wasn't in the dungeons at all. But she didn't want to believe it, believe Snape was missing.

Hermione knocked fervently, almost banging on the door; it was ten minutes after six. She cringed at the noise but was sure he would be able to hear it even from his quarters.

Then she remembered the Potions Master's uncanny ability to know when someone was at the door. He couldn't have not sensed her there, meaning he was either absent, or he was dead or unconscious inside… Probably – hopefully – not dead.

Hermione wasn't sure what she was to do, fear now growing within her. Was there some protocol to follow when your professor disappears?

She slid down the opposite wall to sit on the ground, knees drawn up to her chest, chin resting on one knee, eyes closed. What should she do now? She knew she could leave, probably without repercussions by pushing the blame onto him for not being there at the allotted time, but she didn't want to abandon her position. What if he showed up later and became angry at _her_ for being absent? He was known to be unreasonable at times.

While she waited in the dark dungeon corridor, her mind flitted between essays, Snape, research, the war, Ron and Harry, everything. She didn't take a book out of her bag to read, nor did she work on homework, but instead, she sat there and shivered, whether from the chill or from the vision of Voldemort, she did not know.

Every once in a while, she would get up and try the door, feeling foolish each time. How she must look, sitting there like an abandoned dog.

Finally, at the end of the allotted time, she sighed and left, fear – not merely worry – fear for Snape now overshadowing all other thoughts.

As she nibbled unenthusiastically on her toast, Hermione looked across the Great Hall towards the Headmaster but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He took a bite of bacon and laughed at Professor McGonagall's sour face, he was unconcerned and unchanged.

She shifted her eyes to Snape's usual seat, and although it wasn't an unusual for him to miss breakfast, this particular morning's empty chair sent a jolt down her spine. _Why?_ She asked, _Why is he not here?_

"Oi, Hermione, 'you alright?" Ron's voice cut through her growing panic.

She jumped and exhaled. "No, it's S… Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking about tomorrow's test," She hoped he had not noticed the slight waver in her voice. Her concerns involving Snape would not be welcome here.

Should she alert Professor Dumbledore? Or was he unconcerned because he knew Snape was fine?

If she hadn't been looking upwards in thought, she would not have noticed Bloody Baron floating towards the High Table, far above the students, almost blending in with the charmed ceiling. Her eyes followed him cross the Great Hall and watched. Their exchange was short, unnoticed by anyone else at breakfast, but she noticed. She noticed when Dumbledore stopped chewing. She noticed him frown. She noticed his twinkle leaving his eyes. She noticed his lips press together and his forehead wrinkle.

But it was the widening of his eyes which fully confirmed her fears.

* * *

><p>Snape's classes were cancelled immediately. Dumbledore stood and announced cheerfully that he had a flight of fancy where students with Potions should have a swimming contest against the giant squid.<p>

Students without Potions that day groaned in envy, calling up at the Headmaster to cancel the entire day of classes.

He merely smiled serenely and said, "Perhaps Lady Luck may bestow good fortune on you another day," After pausing for effect, he swept out of the Hall mysteriously.

"It just _had_ to be today. Why not yesterday or tomorrow?" Ron grumbled beside her.

"He's lying," Harry whispered.

Hermione looked at him sharply, watching his face closely and saw anger and something dark in his eyes.

"I think Snape's disappeared," He continued ominously. "Defected."

She stared at him in surprise, not expecting dark contentment from him at the likelihood of such an event. Their animosity ran deep, but to find satisfaction in the other's failure regardless of the consequences to the Order…

"Don't say that, Harry. You don't have any information to base such a conclusion."

"No, you're just blinded by that potions project you've been going on and on about," He accused. "You haven't been thinking clearly since term started."

"That is absolutely ridiculous," She defended indignantly, suddenly thankful they had been ousted from their usual seats to the end of the table for being late to breakfast. Was it Lady Luck that Dumbledore had mentioned? "From what we've seen in the last five years, he's completely loyal to our side."

"He's a spy – no, a double agent. He's playing both sides for years, and now he's chosen Voldemort."

Ron flinched.

"Think about this logically! If he did defect, why would he cut off our side when he could remain as a spy for Voldemort?"

Ron flinched again.

"Since when have you been comfortable saying his name?" Harry eyed her suspiciously, and she noticed he hadn't answered her question. "Just shows he's brainwashed you – you and everyone else in the Order. He's using Dark Magic, and he's probably learned lots more from Voldemort, and Malfoy, and all his other Death Eater friends."

Ron flinched a third time. "Oi…"

"Now _you_ have lost your mind! He may know Dark Magic, but that doesn't mean he's evil. I'm certain Mad-Eye Moody knows some Dark Magic from being an Auror, and Professor Dumbledore knows it too or he wouldn't be able to counter them," She reasoned. "You are not thinking _logically_."

"It's obvious they are on our side. But Snape, he's always been slippery. He also knows Occlumency. How'd we know what _he's_ really thinking?" Harry glowered. "You can never trust a Slytherin."

"It's outrageous to base someone's loyalties on their House affi—"

"I'm right, and you know it. I'll even prove it," He ended their argument and stalked purposefully out of the Great Hall.

"What…?"

Silence reigned between her and Ron.

"Ron. I'm worried about him," She murmured quietly. "Lately, all we've been doing is arguing. I admit it's partly my fault, but… How does he act when he's with you?"

"He's… I don't know… sometimes he's happy and sometimes he's angry," Ron replied just as quietly and paused. "The thing is, I'm not sure which is worse. They're both so… extreme. It's almost scary."

His answer made her stomach drop, and her eyes turned to stare at the double doors Harry had just passed through, wishing he would walk back in, as an unscarred little boy instead of the bitter young man he had become.

Throughout the day, the rumors ran wild. No one believed it to be one of the Headmaster's ridiculous schemes. They wanted it to be much more, and they wanted Snape's absence to be permanent.

Some speculated that Snape had blown himself up in a potions mishap, swearing to have felt the castle shake during the night. Others said he had finally gotten fed up with being denied the DADA position and left to join his vampire friends and girlfriend, whom he happened to be responsible for turning. The most outrageous and hilarious one told that he had tripped down a staircase to land on top of Mrs. Norris, lost in a fight against the cat who scratched out both his eyes and bit off his nose, then was castrated by Peeves, had fallen blindly into the Lake, and was finally eaten by Mermen after he refused to join them in hunting the Giant Squid.

Students were celebrating all over the castle, and the professors had given up on calming them down during class, much less teaching them anything.

While other students may not have been bothered, Hermione was. Had she been anyone else, she would not have thought anything to be out of place, but she was Snape's assistant; she knew he hadn't been present for that morning without any notice.

Snape would never make such a mistake.

So, she hadn't been able to concentrate during morning classes, impatient to gain any news regarding his whereabouts. Once classes let out for lunch, she ignored Ron and Harry's calls and rushed to the Great Hall. As she burst through the doors, she saw with disappointment that the Headmaster, who was usually there before the students, was missing from his seat. Frowning, she sat down to wait as excited students meandered in. Where was he? Professor McGonagall was missing, as well. Something was extremely wrong, and she was certain it had to do with Order business.

She wasn't sure of where to go next. After a moment's deliberation, she headed to the Owlery. In her mind, she ran through what and who she would write, but the only people she knew well enough were Professor Lupin and the Weasleys.

Amongst the sound of rustling feathers, she prepared a piece of parchment and quill.

_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_I'm writing to ask about Professor Snape. I don't believe he is merely sick or taking a sudden trip. Is he alright?_

_Please, let me know what you can and whether there is anything I can do._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

She hastily folded the parchment and grabbed the nearest school owl. The tawny owl gave her a disgruntled hoot for having his sleep interrupted but allowed her to fasten the note. He nipped her finger before flying off, warning her that he would be expecting a treat at his return. Although inappropriate in the given circumstances, her lips twitched into a small smile.

As soon as the owl took flight, Hermione admitted to the futility of the action. Everything she did today seemed futile. She didn't know if Professor Lupin would tell her anything, or if he would reply at all. But she felt better to have tried.

On her way back to the Great Hall an idea hit her; there was one other person she could ask! Even better, he could move around the castle unnoticed and possibly even have access to the Headmaster's office or at least the former-Headmasters. She remembered him mentioning the former-Headmaster Nigellus several times in jest and possibly even referring to being on good terms with him, though the relationship seemed rather dodgy.

Hermione changed course to the library and slinked in. It was strangely devoid of students – even Ravenclaws – giving the chamber an eerie quality, one which she had only experienced when sneaking in at night. Her footsteps and the brushing of her robes seemed to echo loudly in the dead emptiness regardless of her efforts to stay silent.

There was no sign of Madam Pince, which bothered her as well. She could be anywhere in the vast library, sneaking about to catch any students who were sneaking around; Hermione didn't want to risk catching Madam Pince's eye – or ear, which may give away her intent.

As she neared her hidden corner, she whispered hopefully. "Evander?"

The painting was empty.

She groaned inwardly in disappointment. She didn't know any other method to find him, and there was no one else with authority in the castle who would answer her questions seriously or honestly. She was about to sneak back out, maybe stopping by the portrait of the Scholarly Knight, when his voice, whispered and teasing, reached her ears like a soft breeze through the air.

"You called?"

She whirled around. "You're here!" She whispered back.

"Of course I'm here. You are the one who requested my presence."

"I can do that?"

"Hmm?"

"Call for you. You weren't in your painting earlier, right?"

"No, I was elsewhere, but we can all hear you when you ask for us," He smirked. "However, it's up to us whether we answer or ignore the call. I happen to like you, so I came."

She frowned thoughtfully. "Does that mean the Fat Lady is just being spiteful when she disappears from her portrait and leaves students stranded in the hall – for hours?" She asked in exasperation and barely any amusement, as she had been on the receiving end of such incidents in the past.

"Exactly, she's actually one of the more devious ones in the castle."

"Devious? The Fat Lady?" She choked.

He smirked and nodded.

"Evander, you're getting me side-tracked," Hermione returned to her original purpose. "Do you know what's going on with Professor Snape?"

"Why do you ask?" His face gained an expression of curiosity.

"He wasn't in his office this morning. I'm convinced something bad happened to him. He would have sent a note otherwise."

"How can you be certain?" He asked. "He could have left in a rush to collect rare potions ingredients. Do you really know the man?"

"I… no, I suppose not. But I know he's a perfectionist." She stated firmly. "You can see from his brewing. He wouldn't miss that detail."

Evander's eyes softened. "You always surprise me," He said with a wistful smile. "You are correct."

"Well? What's going on? He's in trouble, isn't he?" Hermione demanded. "Has Professor Dumbledore said anything?"

"Sorry, my girl, I'm not allowed into the Headmaster's office if he commands it, and he has in this occasion," He replied apologetically. "But for you, I will tell you what I know," Evander settled himself down in his armchair and looked intensely at her. "Before I disclose anything, I must ask your intentions."

At the seriousness of his tone, she pulled herself together and returned the look with concern. "Intentions? I'm just… worried about him. I promise I won't make the situation worse."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Is that so? Don't you believe he's evil?"

"What? No!" She answered indignantly.

"No need to get angry. It's just a passing thought."

Hermione searched his eyes to identify that ambiguous thought and tone, but he had started speaking again.

"From what I have seen and heard around the castle, he left last night but never returned," He explained calmly, his eyes drifted upwards to the right as if recalling a thought. "Bloody Baron informed us that he has seen Severus leaving the castle more frequently these past several months, but he always returns by morning, in time to teach, but always exhausted."

"Returns by morning…? But… what about sleep? I assume he doesn't live outside the castle."

Evander hesitated, narrowed his eyes, and seemed to reach some decision before speaking. "No, he has always slept very little," He shook his head and frowned in irritation and what looked to be resignation.

"That is all I can tell you. Any further information has been secured within Albus's office."

She frowned, dissatisfied.

"Do you know what their reactions were? Professor Dumbledore's reaction this morning was dreadful. His eyes…"

He sighed at her questioning. "They are… frantic. Albus and Minerva have called a meeting with your Order people."

Now Hermione's eyes widened. "You know about the Order… How can you simply tell me! What if I was with the other side?"

"Dear, I know of your association with the Potter boy, and I've watched the messes you've made during the past several years. Especially last year."

"Oh," She looked at him sheepishly. "They don't believe he's defected, do they?" She bit her lip.

"Possibly."

What information he gave her, and what she still didn't know, made her feel even more anxious.

"I do not know what to do," She closed her eyes in frustration. "I feel so useless."

"It's best to not cause any worry from your actions. They are doing what they can," He reassured, but it was obvious he felt just as anxious and just as useless.

"I have Transfiguration next. I wonder if it will be cancelled…"

"Minerva's classes are still in session. The students must not realize the gravity of the situation."

"That makes sense. Thank you… for telling me and talking to me."

"No problem! Happy to help," Evander's behavior de-aged to a young boy's. "Now, go. You've got ten minutes til class."

The afternoon dragged along at a snail's pace, each

She had spent the entirety of Transfiguration watching Professor McGonagall for any hint, but there was no change to her behavior. Her voice was as clipped as usual, and she reprimanded as sternly as any other day.

She looked for nuances in every word and every motion, but her professor must be a better actor when it counted. It clashed with the openly shocked reaction she had seen during their private meeting.

Finally, when her insides felt about to explode from restlessness, evening arrived.

Hermione left for the dungeons as usual for their independent research arrangement which everyone seemed to have forgotten, and she was glad for it; it gave her a legitimate excuse for her to be at Snape's office.

She subconsciously but needlessly snuck through the halls, checking before turning corners and hiding in the shadows, feeling as if she was breaking some rule when she, in reality, was not. Sometimes, she wished for an invisibility cloak or a Marauder's Map of her own. She very well couldn't ask Harry for fear that her request would give away her not-so-innocent intent.

In minutes, she arrived at the door, but it was locked and enduring as that morning. She slipped her wand from her sleeve to begin a revealing spell on the door, trying to find the wards on it. Oh god, she was trying to break into a teacher's office. This would call for expulsion, and if Snape found out, the Headmaster wouldn't find a body to expel.

After several moments, the diagnosis revealed a detection spell and something else – most likely a locking charm, but she suspected that was not all. Her shoddy spellwork could never compete with Snape's meticulousness. This would be another field of magic to add to her long list of things to learn.

She stepped back, sighing in resignation. There was no point in trying anything more on the door, and even if she did, she was certain of failure.

She slowly walked back to her dormitory, only half successful in clearing her mind of Snape.

Hermione was so focused on thinking of nothing that she didn't notice an object in her path. Suddenly, her face was rushing towards the ground. With a loud yelp, her hands barely caught herself in time to save her nose.

And then, the object was nudging that nose.

"Crookshanks!"

He meowed loudly and pawed her nose again.

"What?" She said crossly as she stood back up. "You did that on purpose!"

Now he butted his head against her leg insistently, walked ahead several steps, and then returned to bump behind her leg again.

"What is it?"

He returned a frantic meow and took off down the hall.

"Crookshanks!" She ran after him. "What is wrong with you?" Something was agitating him; the last time he had acted similarly was when he found Scabbers, and she knew to trust his instinct.

She hurried down an unknown corridor, beginning to fear the dark shadowy corners. Suddenly, the corridor was devoid of torches. She paused to cast a light and looked ahead for Crookshanks. She could barely see him, only his two eyes glinting in the darkness, waiting for her to catch up.

When she rounded a corner, she found herself facing a dead end.

"Crookshanks?" She didn't see him. There was a scuffling sound just outside the range of her light, and she saw the edge of the cat's waving tail. He pawed at the bottom right corner of the wall and then looked back at her. As she approached him cautiously, he stepped aside to give her a view of what had caught his attention.

There was a scratch on the bottom right brick. Looking closer revealed it to be a carving of a circle with lines extending around it – a sun?

Hermione crouched down to hold her light at it. "Crookshanks, what does this do?"

She tentatively reached her hand out to feel the stone. It seemed like an ordinary block of stone. Crookshanks made a noise behind her which sounded like an annoyed huff. He squeezed in front of her and pressed a paw against the sun and looked back at her.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

He waved his tail.

"Alright," She said skeptically. Taking a deep breath, she reached out again and pressed on the carving. It didn't budge. The half-kneazle meowed impatiently.

"Okay, okay." This time, she used a finger and tried pressing the middle of the sun. The stone inside the carved circle shifted inward, and a section of stone at the other side of the wall moved aside with a heavy scrape. A cold gust of wind swirled in.

Immediately, Crookshanks whisked through the opening. She followed quickly, stepping out into a face-full of leaves. _Ouch._ She lifted the branches aside to look around. They were in some sort of a garden, and she could see the bright stars in the night sky. He hissed at her, his tail waving restlessly. Now it was her turn to huff as she followed him through the bushes and trees until they stepped out into open land.

They were at the castle grounds!

Crookshanks increased his pace and streaked forward. She followed, knowing where they were headed. _The Forbidden Forest_, she groaned.

"Crooks, I don't think we're supposed to be out here," She called out breathlessly. "You're going to get me into so much trouble," She glanced behind at the castle, imagining Professor McGonagall's frightening face. She shuddered.

They reached the edge of trees and charged straight in into the forest, trying to keep her blasted cat in sight.

They ran for another five minutes until Crookshanks suddenly stopped, causing her to almost trip over him again and stumbled against a tree.

There in front of her, half covered by a bush, was a black lump. She crept forward slowly.

"What is it, Crooks?" He began to paw at the lump, scratching against something until it gave away. Was that mask? _Ok, so this is a person_. She tentatively took a step forward and gasped.

"Professor Snape!" She scrambled to look closer. He was sprawled on his back, his face deathly white. There was a brown streak across his neck, and she could smell something coppery. Blood!

Kneeling, she gently pulled aside his collar and felt for a pulse. She waited. _Please!_ She couldn't feel anything. She refused to retract her fingers, stubbornly holding her shaking hand still.

_There! Alive!_

She began casting a basic diagnosis spell over his body. It revealed cuts and bruises all over his body, some type of head injury, broken ribs, broken arm, internal injuries, magical drainage, sprained ankle, _a missing arm_! Gods, how was he still alive?

The ground was covered in his blood, but the bleeding had already stopped. She didn't know whether she should move him, but she was certain she didn't have the medical knowledge to heal him. She'd only handled minor cuts and bruises before, but these were far more than minor.

How useless! Even with all she had read, she was of no use here.

She needed to get help. There was no doubt he was dying, but she did not have the knowledge to determine how close he was to death either. She was about to rise to run back to the castle for Madam Pomfrey, but Snape's body began to seize violently.

There was no way she could leave him like this. But how could she get help? There was little chance of the matron understanding or trusting Crooks – a cat. Even if she rushed back, it would take at least twenty minutes to return, and during that time, Snape's body could give up and die. If only they were at the castle, she could call for someone. A professor. A portrait. A ghost…

Call for a ghost… The Patronus! She had once before seen it used as a messenger.

She tried to cast the spell, hoping to see her silvery friend, but with a dying body in front of her, she couldn't concentrate on anything remotely happy. Crookshanks nudged her arm and meowed sorrowfully, encouraging her to try again. This time, she thought of the happiness she felt when Snape had approved her research proposal. Ah! Her little otter materialized and crawled onto her lap.

"Hurry, get Madam Pomfrey! Professor Snape is injured – he's dying – in the Forbidden Forest. Guide her here!" She quickly sent it off with a message and turned back to Snape.

Hermione didn't know where to start. She tugged at his tattered robes to reveal a bloody patch of skin of his chest and conjured a wet towel to wipe away the blood. As several of the wounds began to bleed again, she began casting healing spells. So many injuries! The cuts healed one by one, leaving light pink scar tissue all over his skin, overlapping the many older scars she noticed underneath – some still red and recent.

After clearing the upper torso, she considered his broken ribs for a moment, but dismissed them, not trusting the _Episkey_ she had learned from a book but had never tried. Now that she could see his chest clearly, she was dismayed to notice how skinny he was and how unhealthy he looked, the skin so pale and stretched tightly over his ribs.

Pushing her shock aside, she continued to clear his body of injuries, anxiously wondering why the school matron had not yet arrived. Crookshanks sat to their side, scanning the surrounding trees and diligently keeping guard around the two.

Finally, the rustling of leaves alerted them of someone arriving. Hermione identified Madam Pomfrey, the Headmaster, and Remus as they entered the lighted area around her, all three of them looking harried and out of breath.

"Miss Granger. Severus!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. She immediately knelt down opposite of Hermione and began to work.

"I—I tried healing his cuts. I didn't want to wreck anything, so I didn't touch any other injuries… he's… he's missing an arm!" Hermione's panic, which had been suppressed previously, resurfaced, clouding her head as she watched Snape's still form.

"Remus, please escort Miss Granger back to the castle."

"No! I'm not leaving him!"

"Miss Granger—"

"No, I'm staying. I won't get in the way, but I'm not leaving!"

"Very well," He sighed. "Poppy, how is he?"

"Physical injuries. No Cruciatus. Exhaustion. Extreme magical drainage. Sleep deprivation. Malnourishment. Failing liver. Goodness! Why has he not seen me?" She cried. "You are supposed to be watching out for him, Albus."

"You know as well as I how he is. He will never accept our concern, nor will he listen to our advice."

She huffed, muttering something which sounded like "irresponsible git" and "never listens".

"I know, but this is absolutely ridiculous. We can't move him before I heal his internal injuries. The idiot boy splinched his left arm! He seems to have apparated twice, in_ this state_. Once intercontinental and again somewhere close by. I believe he might have lost it the second time. Remus, could you try to sniff it out?" She swore while looking at his stomach, increasing the pace of her healing, pulling vials and salves from her tote.

"Of course," He raised his nose and circled around them, and finally deciding on a direction, he ran into the darkness.

"Miss Granger, could you place his head and shoulders on your lap?" She said brusquely. "His spine is fine for now so you can lift him."

She raised his head to allow the matron to pour three vials of something thick and green down his throat, and then returned to the rest of the body.

After a moment, Dumbledore looked down at Hermione kindly. "Miss Granger."

He looked calm and alert, but even in the dim wand light, she could see the sad eyes and slightly hunched shoulders.

"Miss Granger, could you explain to us how you came across this location?"

"Ahh— Crookshanks, my cat right over there, demanded that I follow him. He was so insistent, and I know to listen to him when he gets like that," Her panic was slowly subsiding. "I don't know how he knew, but he's always right."

"I must express my most sincere gratitude. We have been searching for Professor Snape this entire day in the vicinity of Hogwarts, as well as other likely locations. Never did we imagine him to be so close but so far."

"You didn't think he defected, right? I don't believe he would," She asked urgently. "But Harry is convinced…"

"I confess, the thought briefly crossed our minds."

Hermione's face must have shown some of the the growing resentment she was feeling on behalf of Snape.

"However, we immediately dismissed such an assumption," He added quickly. "I trust him completely with our lives."

She was temporarily appeased.

They watched in silence as the matron waved her wand across his body and rubbed paste onto his injuries, occasionally reprimanding him regardless of his unconscious state.

From their right, they heard a rustling sound heading their way. Hermione looked sharply at Crookshanks but relaxed when he merely began cleaning his haunch. Remus broke through the trees holding something in his hand. An arm. A very bloody arm.

Hermione quickly turned her face the other direction, suppressing the urge to vomit. If she had been disturbed earlier by the idea of a splinched limb, it was nothing compared to the churning stomach she felt at seeing that limb.

"I found it several miles away, hooked between branches of a tree," He explained once he regained his breath. "He must have landed on top of the tree and apparated again to avoid falling to his death."

Madam Pomfrey snatched the arm from him, muttered another "idiot boy!" and began examining the limb.

"He's lucky splinching puts the part left behind in a mild stasis," She huffed. "Otherwise he would have lost it, especially after leaving it out there for hours. It's already almost gone. I don't know how much longer it will last… And I can't reattach it here without the right tools. I wasn't expecting something so drastic. We need to return right away."

Another "idiot boy!" and she resumed patching Snape's body, pouring a Blood-Replenishing Potion down this throat. They all winced when two sharp cracks in the quiet night told them his ribs had been rebroken and snapped back into place.

"Remus, could you please return to the castle and inform the others of Severus's condition?" Albus said, strained.

"What actions should they take?"

"Have Kingsley call off the search in Egypt and Bulgaria, but have William on keep an eye on the Egyptian Ministry. Then send a message to Nymphadora and Arthur to return from their watch on Malfoy Manor and the Goyle Estate."

"Oh yes, send someone to collect Mundungus from Knockturn Alley…" Dumbledore coughed. "If you can find him."

"And do not, I repeat, do _not_ allow Alastor to leave my office," He commanded. "We do not want a confrontation between these two."

"Absolutely," With that, Remus left quickly.

As soon as he had disappeared, Madam Pomfrey exhaled loudly. "Albus, he's been stabilized," She said as she cast another diagnosis spell. "I cannot be sure of long term damage, especially with his arm still detached, but we can now move him to the Hospital Wing."

"Excellent!"

"He's nowhere near excellent, Albus. I may not be able to save the arm."

"Nonsense. I have full confidence in your skills."

"You are just as infuriating, if not more so, as this idiotic boy," She bit out. "Now let's go!"

They hastened back to the castle with Snape floating carefully between Dumbledore and the matron, the arm encased in a conjured box under a strong cooling charm. Hermione trailed behind them with Crookshanks in her arms and the black mask clutched tightly in her hand.

Once they arrived at the infirmary, Dumbledore turned to Hermione with a smile.

"Miss Granger, we must thank you and your familiar for what have done tonight. You have most certainly saved Professor Snape's life. I award forty points to Gryffindor," He said proudly. "However, it is of the utmost importance that you keep this incident to yourself, even from Misters Potter and Weasley."

"Now, it would be best for you to return to Gryffindor Tower, as it is past curfew."

"But—"

"We will inform you of his condition tomorrow," His eyes twinkled. "You may visit him if his condition allows it."

"Yes, sir," She relented. "Good night, sir."

She dragged her feet through the corridors, still in a daze, squeezing Crookshanks tightly who for once did not complain. Only once she arrived in front of the Fat Lady did Hermione notice Snape's mask still in her hand, crusted with blood and dirt, empty eyeholes searing into her own eyes, causing her to recall Snape's gaunt, pallid face.

What little sleep she managed that night was filled with vivid nightmares of a dead corpse and its rotting arm.

* * *

><p>AN: What do you want to happen to Severus? Should we keep bullying the poor man? Or has he suffered enough...for now?

_Wed, Feb 08, 2012_


	9. Bandages are for the Weak

A/N: I should to apologize for this chapter. Lately, I've been loitering and getting side-tracked by little plot bunnies, and this may be one of those… but still mixed with a bit of plot! Enjoy!

**Bandages are for the Weak  **

…_Confringo! Confringo!_

This time, the he whipped his wand around and shot two curses to his left instead of just one, taking out two men, one who would have hit him twice in the chest. He had saved his ribs, but then took a slash to the shoulder.

_A reasonable trade._

The slice in his back began to sear into his skin.

Suddenly, he was to the right of the plaza, surrounded on all sides by hooded men. He swept his left arm in a wide, horizontal arch with splayed hands to push out a magical force which tossed backwards half of the men, all shouting in surprise. He dropped and rolled to dodge the flurry of curses thrown where his body had been half a moment ago.

A thick fog rolled through the clearing, obscuring everyone's vision, and he was not exempt. He hastily stumbled forward blindly, knocking into figures but surprisingly did not trip over any bodies which should have littered the ground.

Then he was suddenly on the other end of the plaza from the exit he had blasted in the wall. The fog had disappeared, but he had lost ground again.

_What?_

He disillusioned himself and sprinted across the open space, bridging the distance at an extraordinary rate. He was almost there – so close – when a man slammed into him from his right, throwing him far off track from the exit.

_These idiots are really getting on my nerves_, he glared up menacingly from where he had fallen and growled.

Then, he was back at the far end of the plaza again, disillusioned and sprinting over to the exit, except this time he slowed and blasted a curse at the stupid man trying to slam into him. He noticed the stunned man resembled James Potter and was delighted.

His path ahead was now blocked by men resembling Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy. He groaned. These gang members must have a death wish to send these three men to represent them in this skirmish. Oh wait, they do.

He simply swiped them aside with a quick jerk of his left hand.

_Hah! Take that you fools._

He was then at his exit. There was no need to watch his back anymore. He had killed or stunned every single one of the infuriating men behind him. He ducked through the hole in the wall, into his office in the Hogwarts dungeons. He sensed Granger's presence working in the corner and ignored her, sitting down at his desk and burning all of the student papers with a satisfied flick of his wand.

He grinned in triumph. Things were looking up.

There was a clanking sound from the direction of Granger. Glancing over, he saw Minerva behind the cauldron. She raised her head his way and spoke. "Severus."

Ughhh, she was just as annoying as the insufferable know-it-all.

"Severus, don't ignore me," She said again with a smirk which strangely looked like Lucius Malfoy's.

Then it _was_ Malfoy. The blond devil raised his wand and the room gradually grew brighter.

No… Go away you bloody idiot, or I'll Crucio you now. And I certainly won't feel guilty about it.

The Dark Lord morphed out of the stupid blond hair and dark robes, stepped around Granger's table and glided over to him – now through the grubby potions laboratory – graciously dimming the room. But he couldn't dredge up any bit of gratitude.

The monster arrived in front of his desk, but he seemed to be Poppy instead. She had an air about her which told him she was glaring angrily at him with hands on her hips. Oh, no…she might be worse than the Dark Lord.

"Severus."

"What?" He grimaced. _No, go away, go away._

The scenery changed again into his old Slytherin dormitory, lights dimmed signaling it was time for bed. Finally, he could sleep after the tiring day of fighting and facing Poppy. He was lying comfortably in his beloved four-poster bed which suddenly became not-so-comfortable.

Rather stiff, actually.

"Severus!"

"What now?" He exclaimed angrily.

"I know you are awake. Don't ignore me."

He turned over on his right side, away from the direction of Poppy's shrill voice, but before he barely tilted his body, pain flared through his body.

"What the hell?" He gasped for breath.

"Don't move you idiot boy."

He rolled back on his back and squinted his eyes open, covering his face against the harsh light with his left arm.

Except his arm didn't move.

This annoying dream, which had turned for the better for a very short moment when he blasted away Black and Malfoy look-alikes, had become a nightmare.

_Nightmare?_

"Poppy…" His hoarse whisper scraped against his throat. "Don't tell me I'm in the Hospital Wing again…"

"That's exactly where you are!" She exclaimed from his left. "Now open your eyes so I can look at your pupils."

He made a quarter-way attempt, glared weakly up at the blob that was she, and shut his eyes again.

"Don't you dare," She warned.

His mind had made it to his wonderful dorm bed earlier. He should be able to return…

"Severus Snape! I will hex you if you don't wake up this instant!"

He winced. No, a futile attempt. His hold on the dream had slipped at Poppy's thunder, zapped away with the memory of the dream itself.

"Very well." He grumbled.

"Do not _'very well'_ me, young man," She commanded. "You will do as I say! Wake up, _now_!"

Ahh, his third master: Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Queen – no, Tyrant – of the Hogwarts Infirmary. There was no doubt that on a bad day she was worse than the Dark Lord and Dumbledore combined.

He opened his eyes and mind to reality, which was Poppy's condescending outrage. He recognized the private room from his previous stays and knew immediately that there was not a sliver of chance of escape. He had woken from one nightmare to another, but this one he could not rewind and re-do.

He, like every other person who resided in Hogwarts, was deathly afraid of the woman – even the Headmaster stepped carefully around her.

This was the only fear in Severus's life that he was not ashamed to admit.

"Good," She said briskly, "I am going to run several diagnosis spells. You know the drill. Keep your eyes open and your mind focused."

Severus scowled but did as she commanded.

"What happened—" He began asking but broke into flaking coughs. "No, water first. My throat…"

"Be patient. I am almost done," She swept her wand and jabbed him in the stomach before helping him take several sips. "Do not move your body. It will hurt."

He sneered, "I realize that much."

"No you do not. You have no idea how close you were to dying," She accused him in a sharp hiss.

Severus knew that tone. Poppy reprimanded and nagged loudly when she was upset, but when she was truly furious, her exterior became calm and quiet, much like him in fact. And while she would fume silently, her motions would become harsher and her magic would crackle around her.

Shite, she was going to turn into a vindictive Medusa any minute now.

"What's wrong with me this time?" He tried to ease away from at least the hissing, snapping fury.

"I've healed the internal and external injuries. You will be sore for several days, which you duly deserve. Your head is fine now. Your back, however. It was a Dark curse," She sent him an accusing glare as if he had cast the curse on himself and tugged his bandages a bit too tightly. "I don't have the knowledge to heal it completely. I've done what I can, but you will need to fix that yourself."

"So that's why my back feels like it's been trampled by a herd of Thestrals. The pain started spreading during the fight."

Her glare intensified. _Oh no, wrong thing to say. _He must be more exhausted than he felt to slip out words without consideration.

She handed him the vilest looking potion – definitely store bought rather than his own brew.

"It seems to worsen the more you move. I had to petrify you to turn you over."

"I'm sure you took great pleasure in petrifying me," He gagged on both the horrid smell and the taste.

"Of course I did," She dismissed his pitiful expression and jabbed his ankle to testing its mobility. "I haven't had the chance in a year. I would love to do it daily if it didn't mean you are barely alive."

"Thank the gods for this mercy," He winced as she now jabbed his knee. "Poppy, is it necessary to kill your patient?"

"If the patient is you, it's mandatory," She jabbed even harder. "I'd rather kill you myself than let someone else steal my prey."

_Devil woman._

"Did the cut burn and blacken the skin? Or did it slice a clean line with yellowing skin?"

"A clean line," A poke at his hip.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, just perfect. I know that one. It's a wonderful little curse used to immobilize and torture prisoners without looking barbaric. Was developed by some pretentious little wanker during the First War. I'm lucky there's even a counter curse, but casting it is a charming process," He said drily.

"Your sarcasm is not welcome here, idiot boy. We can handle your back later, after your body replenished its magic."

Then she fell silent.

No longer her angry silence, but an uncomfortable, awkward, uncertain, hesitant, ominous silence which signaled some upcoming catastrophe.

"Poppy. What is it?" He asked impatiently. At least she wasn't jabbing him anymore.

"You had an accident…"

"An accident," He repeated, raising a mocking eyebrow. "What kind of accident?"

"It's… you…"

She seemed to have lost her ability to speak coherently.

"Well, out with it!" He said sharply.

She choked and blurted out, "Instinctive apparation!"

Severus furrowed his brow, repeating the words in his mind. _Instinctive apparation_.

His eyes widened.

"Oh, hell. I didn't."

"You did," She replied gravely.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered a flash of light but nothing else.

"So I missed."

"You missed twice, each by several miles. And the first was on top of a tree."

He couldn't stifle his snort but his eyes were steel.

"What's missing?" He braced himself for the answer.

Instinctive apparation was the most dangerous form of magical travel due to the fact that it could only be accomplished in dire situations where the subject was so desperate that they would subconsciously sacrifice anything to get away – which meant they were delirious. It was performed unintentionally, while the subject attempted to apparate with a mind too panicked to concentrate. A typical person's subconscious was very rarely powerful enough to manage it, but when it happened, the process usually – always – left body parts behind.

"Technically, nothing is missing… You should be glad to have even made it back. And that you only lost skin on your right thigh during the intercontinental apparation," She evaded elaborating.

"Technically…?" He hastily took stock of his body. Two feet with ten wiggling toes. Knee caps and functional legs. Family jewels. Torso with all its filling. Spine. Neck. Face. Nose. Ears. Hair. Collar bones. Shoulders. Elbows…

"Oh, bloody hell."

Five wiggling fingers… only one arm, one elbow, one hand, and five fingers.

"What do you mean nothing is missing?" He demanded. "My left arm is obviously missing! The entire arm!"

"Dear, your left arm is attached."

"Remus was able to find it," She hesitated, "But the combination of curse injuries, blood loss, dying flesh, and the shock of splinching deadened your nerves. I was able to reattach the arm and completely repair the damage to the flesh but… you won't be able to feel or move it again."

He groaned and thumped his head back into the pillow several times, not caring a whit for the agony in back.

"You can't cut it off and regrow it? Or implant some new nerves? Skele-gro – except a nervo-gro version or something of the like?"

"No, you know this is one of the ailments magic cannot fix – similar to extreme, prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus before developing a resistance."

He knew very well the effects she was talking about, having seen it many times over the years on unsuspecting victims of Death Eater activities.

"So it's gone," He said, eyes empty. What did he have left? He hadn't merely lost an arm. He had lost his mobility, his potions, his ability to contribute to the war, his purpose in life. His life. What could he do with one arm, handicapped, other than to act as a human bullet?

Perhaps he could also lose an eye and start a Cripple Alliance with Mad-Eye Moody. He was sure Bellatrix, with her missing sanity, and the Dark Lord, with his missing nose, would be eager to join as well. They could all be co-founders, ownership split four ways. At least the name sounded much classier than Slug Club.

He was going crazy.

"Severus…"

Not a single noise penetrated the stifling silence in the Hospital Wing. Poppy watched him, unable to look away from his blank face through the tears which were threatening to escape her eyes regardless of how many times she blinked. She wanting so badly to erase his pain and hide him somewhere safe from this cruel world.

"No," Severus suddenly stated, rage filling the room. "No. That is not happening."

"Severus… falling into de—"

"Poppy. I'm not in denial. And I am not going to sit back and accept this like some worthless lump of flesh!"

"But there isn't—"

"I will make one. I don't care how long it takes, but I will _create_ a solution."

"With one arm?"

"Yes," He said with such intense determination that she was taken aback.

"Now, where is Albus?" He forced himself to look forward with gritted teeth, refusing to allow despair to pull him back.

"He is currently at dinner."

"Dinner? What day is it?"

"Friday, the 18th of October. You slept for almost an entire day."

"A day? When did you find me?"

"We found you in the Forbidden Forest yesterday evening. Miss Granger found you. I estimate you had already been there for half a day."

"Granger? What was she doing out there?" He sneered. "Sneaking around and breaking rules with Potter and Weasley again?"

"No, Severus, her familiar led her, and her alone, to you, and she called for us with her Patronus," Poppy sighed. "She saved your life."

"That's nonsense," He scoffed.

"If we had arrived an hour or two later, we would have lost you. We looked everywhere for you – all Thursday – when you did not return that morning."

He narrowed his eyes. "To find the traitor Snape, no doubt," His scowl transformed into a nasty smirk instantly. "But I've again returned to forever be a wrenching thorn in their sides."

"Sever—"

"Enough. We have more important issues to discuss than my popularity," He said coldly. "Get Albus now. Time is short."

"At least wait until tomorrow! You are supposed to be healing."

"Just get him up here. We have much to cover and only two to three hours to do so. Don't worry, I'll heal on another day."

* * *

><p>By the time the Headmaster arrived, Severus had already healed his back and was eying his unmoving arm curiously, no trace of his earlier bout of depression lingering within him.<p>

"Took you long enough," He sniped impatiently as soon as Albus entered the room.

"Ah, Severus, it is wonderful to see you awake. I hope you are feel—"

"Leave the talk of weather until later," He dismissed. "I need to report, and we need to decide what to do about tonight," He looked at Albus for a sign of understanding.

The Headmaster nodded, looking crushed at losing the chance to offer sweets.

"I successfully procured the research records from the Egyptian Ministry. They are in my robes – protected – so I will deliver them to you later tonight. Those, we will discuss after addressing the main issue, my left arm."

"As you may have noticed, I said 'issue', not 'problem'."

"I have lost all feeling below the shoulder, meaning I cannot feel the Dark Mark at this moment. However, the Dark Lord will most certainly call tonight. I confess, I can only make uneducated guesses on how the arm or my body will react. From my previous research, I reached a definite conclusion that the Mark is not confined within the forearm. Otherwise, defecting Death Eaters could amputate the arm to free themselves from service. The curse in the Mark may have meshed with our blood or other part which affects the entire body."

He fell into deep thought. "Actually, it would be fascinating if the Mark was tied to the nervous system. We shall see what happens."

With difficulty, he hoisted himself up to a sitting position, testing out his strength. "As you see, I am in no state to answer the call, and not just because of the arm. First, my magic is depleted. I can barely feel a weak pulse. Secondly, I do not have the concentration needed to protect my mind against the Dark Lord's _Legilimency_ assault. I won't survive the night, nor will my knowledge of the Order."

"Now, tell me the names of people who know I am here."

Albus smiled at finally having an opportunity to speak.

"Poppy and I, of course. Miss Granger, and Remus were at the scene. Minerva. Arthur, Molly, Bill and Charlie Weasley. Nymphadora, Kinsley, Alastor, and Mundungus."

"Mundungus Fletcher?" Severus exclaimed. "Did you _Obliviated_ him?"

He immediately reconsidered his question and groaned. "No… Of course you didn't. I suppose it's safe within the circumstances. The Order is expected to search for me in these cases."

"And Granger. We need to add Potter and Weasley to the list. She will have told them by now. Those two will need to be contained. Or better yet, _Obliviated,_" His feral glee radiated from him, and he almost looked as if he wanted to rub his hands together maliciously, "And I will be the one to do it."

"Miss Granger has given her word."

Severus snorted. "We all know how secrets flow between best friends. Secrets never stay secret, and they will not miss a chance to gloat."

"I trust her," Albus said confidently. "She has proven herself in the past."

"Proving oneself for a Gryffindor is different from proving oneself for students of any other House," He scoffed with a bitter grimace. "In Gryffindor, proving oneself equates to breaking rules and destroying everything they touch."

"Severus! I repeat, she has proven herself – her trustworthiness and her will – in many ways during her years here."

"You are, in a way, placing the fate of the Order which is critical to the outcome of this war, on an insufferable little girl's unreliable shoulders. I will not have all my work unraveled because you were wrongfully lenient towards your favorite Gryffindors."

Albus sent him a reproachful look.

Severus shot back a reproachful glare of his own. Their eyes and resolve clashing against each other, neither willing to give in… but finally Severus relented in disgust.

"Fine, do as you like," He shoved the matter aside and returned the topic at hand. "We need a cover story for my absence and my lack of response to his call. Fortunately, the Dark Lord can only recognize the signature but not feel the state or location of his servant," He explained, "which is rather stupid of him, but I won't be the one to mention it."

"We have the perfect opportunity to lead Voldemort astray," Albus said in happily. Severus merely ignored the crazy man, accustomed by now to his mood swings. "As well as to divert him from our activities. We must also utilize this chance to raise your position within the Inner Circle."

"Hmm, inform him of an Order mission. We can say, to…Poland for an obscure potions ingredient…saxifrages. You were collecting the flower petals on rocky mountains when a storm swept you off your feet and caused you to plummet into a ravine," He improvised proudly.

Severus snorted. "Poland? Swept off my feet? Is that the best you can do? You make me sound like some imbecile who has yet to learn to walk."

Albus couldn't be certain, but he may have heard Severus mumble 'Tonks' under his breath.

"Shall we hear your suggestion then?" Albus asked in good humour.

"I will say I was diving in the North Atlantic Ocean harvesting the stingers of lion's mane jellyfish for developing a shielding potion and was mauled by a Greenland Shark. I would inform the Dark Lord that the actual jellyfish required was in Australian waters and the head rather than the stingers, showing my efforts to interfere with the Order's progress," He cocked his eyebrow smugly. "How is that?"

"I can do nothing but concede defeat," The Headmasters eyes twinkled. "That would also explain your arm if your injury was discovered for any reason. To Voldemort, you will be trapped in a deep coma after barely making it back to the castle. We shall plant rumors within the Ministry, which will prepare your smooth return to his service. Poppy has told me about your wish to create a treatment for your arm."

Severus's determination flared again over his face. "I refuse to be deadweight for the rest of this war, and for the rest of my life, however short."

"And what do you propose?" Albus decided to ignore the last two words.

"I don't have any data yet to formulate a full research plan, but we should after tonight."

"That's ridiculous," Poppy huffed behind them as she entered the room in time to hear the last portion of their conversation. "How are you going to research, much less brew, with one hand?"

"I will manage," Severus answered stubbornly, not realizing that his slight frown resembled a defiant pout. "And you two have nothing better to do anyway."

Poppy huffed.

"Not only do you lack mobility, you also lack knowledge on this topic. There is next to no research on instinctive apparation, and certainly not on someone who has regained their splinched limbs."

"Splinching should be the same in any form of botched apparation. I can identify many of the curses which hit the arm, and you've already fixed the flesh. The difficult aspect will be the nerve reparation. I have never before encountered a successful case of reviving fully deadened nerves…" His eyes glazed as he lost himself in his thoughts.

Poppy scrutinized him for a moment, and then a wicked smiled bloomed on her face.

"Oh Severus," She said in a singsong voice. "It's a refreshing change for you to cause your own injuries."

Severus's eyes refocused and blinked at her blankly. "What?"

"Splinching yourself."

"Well," He defended, "I was rather preoccupied by those friendly men tossing sprinkle charms at me. I apologize if I wasn't up to standard…"

"'Friendly men'?" She teased. "I seem to recall a similar encounter with several friendly girls during your fourth year teaching. You—"

He blanched. "Poppy, no! You promised!"

"Promised what?"

"You…promised!"

"Please elaborate, young man. I'm having difficulty understanding _child_-speak."

"You promised to never mention that again," He growled.

"I don't remember making such a promise," She said innocently. "I only recall promising to keep this from Minerva."

"It's the same thing!" He snarled with clenched teeth. "And you dosed me with a Numbing Concoction which confounded me for hours. I meant 'never' to 'no one'."

"Oh?" Albus jumped eagerly into the conversation, "What is this Poppy? Splinching? Why have I not heard of such an incident?"

"You will not tell him anything!" Severus commanded, turning his intimidation powers on full blast. However, the hospital gown and his desperate eyes flitting around the room for a wand ruined the effect.

"I believe it was that summer you had left for two weeks to visit some second or fourth cousin, thrice removed's newborn child in Hawaii," She grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Severus was in Ho—"

"No, Poppy! Don't tell him. I will brew a years' worth of the Wrinkle-Be-Gone Salve you've been asking for," He pleaded.

"Only one year?"

"Two."

"Hmm, that sounds very tempting," Severus looked at her with hope shining in his face, "But no."

That hope was flushed out. "Five… and two years' worth of Long-Lasting Perfect Complexion Elixir," He tried once more.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but this is too good to pass up," She grabbed her wand to snap a _Silencio_ and a sticking charm on him.

Albus quickly conjured a large, comfortable armchair and wriggled into it enthusiastically to hear the story.

"I was fortunate enough to see this with my own eyes," Poppy began.

Severus could only sit, weak and helpless and _stuck_ on the hospital bed, and witness the train wreck happening right in front of his horrified eyes. _There goes my pride and sanity…_

"Severus was around twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. If I remember correctly, he was visiting Hogsmeade – at Zonko's – on one warm June afternoon (Albus wondered, _at Zonko's?_) when two little twin girls, around five or six years old, bumped into him. He was such a gentleman and swooped down to catch them before they fell. (_Severus a gentleman?_) The girls were so thankful and captivated that they immediately decided he was their destined Prince on Shiny-White Unicorn. (_Severus and a unicorn?_)"

Severus wanted to cry, but what little part left of his battered, shattered pride wouldn't let him.

"They dragged him over to their mother and introduced him as Prince Sevvie the Savior. (_Prince Sevvie?_) The woman took one look at her two delighted girls with a confused Severus and decided he was the perfect boy to watch over her beloved children for the day, and possibly in the future."

"You should have seen his terrified face. He looked as if he had just seen You-Know-Who appear in front of him wearing pink robes and a tiara. So the girls grabbed his hands and dragged him into Madam Puddifoot's for their first date." _(Oh my, Severus Snape at Madam Puddifoot's…)_

"They first had Tea of Sweet Love and Pink-Strawberry Ice Cream Doughnuts. Then, after gushing over him for half an hour, they ordered a Puddifoot's version of a trifle. It was a large sponge cake with Golden Strawberry Syrup, topped with chopped strawberries in strawberry jelly, topped with strawberry vanilla custard, topped with strawberry-tinged whipped cream, and finally with more strawberries and strawberry chocolate flakes. They spoon fed him while he sat stiffly in the pink chair! (_Spoon fed!_) I suspect Severus is terrified of strawberries and little girls to this day."

Albus twinkled and beamed as if the entirety of Hogwarts had been decorated in Christmas lights and fairy sprinkles. Severus, on the other hand, had squeezed his eyes shut and twisted his face in grief. His world had just crumbled to pieces…

"When they left, the two girls were so charmed that Severus paid for their meal, again showing how much of a gentleman he is, they decided they would return his love by buying him an engagement gift from Gladrags Wizardwear. I believe Severus was in shock by point."

"In Gladrags, they led him around the store, looking for perfect robes for their beloved Prince. They finally found a set of lovely, bright orange robes, which by the way, was their favorite color. (_Orange robes…_) They ordered frills and flowery lace trims to be added. Everywhere. When their mother walked in, she couldn't deny her darling girls and purchased the robes for Severus. She even put it in a beautiful orange gift box and allowed the girls to present it to him with a lovely smooch on each cheek from both of them."

Albus snickered.

"Severus must have snapped then since he suddenly winked out of the store without taking his hands with him."

"The poor dear girls looked as if they were about to burst into tears, but fortunately I was there to placate them and collect his splinched hands and gift. I told them he had felt so loved that he had fallen in love with both girls. And since he was such a chivalrous and shy Prince who would never be able to pick one beautiful Princess over the other, he felt it was his duty to leave and save them from heartbreak."

"They were ecstatic!" Poppy exclaimed.

At that, Albus burst out into what could only be called 'guffawing' laughter. Was Albus even capable of guffawing?

Severus had fallen back on the bed, covering one ear with his one functioning arm, squashing his other ear onto the pillow, and looked to have splintered to pieces.

"Oh, you would have loved to see him when I found him in front of the Hogwarts gates. He was frozen in the same position as in the shop, sans hands and gift, gaping with a terror-stricken expression at nothing, as if the sun had exploded. I don't think he had noticed his missing hands yet."

"I had to float his body to the Hospital Wing and force a sleeping potion down his throat before I could fix them. It took him an entire week to fully recover mentally."

"Poppy! You must show this memory to me in a Pensieve. I must share with Minerva!" Albus choked between chuckles. "And we must see if there are twin girls around age fifteen or sixteen currently attending Hogwarts…"

Feeling sorry for the poor man, the matron ended the charms on Severus, but he only moaned into the pillow. There was only so much he could take, and this had crossed the line. He would never be able to look Albus, or Minerva if she was told, in the eyes again. It had taken him three months to face Poppy without hyperventilating. Now he just hoped he had the mental strength to suppress the blush he knew was rising.

"I should have Obliviated you," He snarled weakly without raising his head. "Stalker."

"I am devastated that you kept such a quality tale from me for years!"

"I was waiting for the perfect opportunity and setting to tell you, and this is the closest to perfection it will ever be," She told him cheerfully. "Oh! I have something for you."

She left the room and returned a minute later with a large _orange_ box in her hands. "His precious souvenir!"

Severus peeked up from his pillow and let out a choked sob. She had presented the box to Albus, and he unearthed the gift from years before – the horrifying, terrifying, grotesque orange, frilly robes…

"Poppy," the man hissed in a harsh voice promising retribution and doom, "I will get you back for this, threefold. Watch your back and stay away from shadows, because I will be looking for the perfect opportunity and setting as well, to exact my revenge."

"You too, Albus. If either of you says a single word or shows a single memory of anything related to the event to Minerva, or anyone else in and out of this world, animate or inanimate, corporeal or incorporeal, you will become the first test subjects for my extensive arsenal of torture methods!"

* * *

><p>An hour later, Severus salvaged enough pieces of his mind to snap up the strongest shield he could manage in his agitated state, behind which he fiercely thrust every emotion related to the embarrassing incident, bolted, welded, and anchored. Finally. He was fully functional again.<p>

There were thirty minutes to an hour until the Dark Lord's call.

Severus used his right hand to lift his dangling left arm and examined the scar near the shoulder. The tear had not healed cleanly due to the violent severance and prolonged detachment, but diagnosis revealed that every nerve and muscle and blood vessel had been knit back together perfectly. He had to admire Poppy's skill.

He first focused on the skin around the tear. He prodded the flesh right above the scar, noting it felt the same as before. Without moving or blinking, he gradually adjusted the poking down the arm, millimeter by millimeter, until he landed in the middle of the scar tissue; he barely felt anything other than the creepy sensation of touching any wide scar tissue. And it certainly crept. It was like you could feel it but at the same time you couldn't. A mental reaction to the visual of touching but not feeling combined with the feeling that it was supposed to not feel. Very difficult to explain.

It took all his Occlumency shields to not cringe and run from the sensation – or lack of. It made him want to cut that arm off, and each time he thought back on the sensation, he mentally blanched and physically cringed. Continuous touch would drive him mad.

He could only find one word to describe the entire experience: disturbing. Disturbing in a never-ending, all-encompassing, overwhelming way.

Gods, he was glad to be an Occlumens.

It was the same below the scar; his urge to slice off his own limb only intensified. Research was going to be more difficult than expected if he couldn't stand to touch and look at the arm.

But at the same time, it was fascinating.

He was impatiently curious.

Would he feel anything above the scar line?

He had never paid attention to the rest of the body during a call because of the sudden, extreme and continuous pain which seared the Mark. Now, he might have the focus to take stock of his entire body. Very curious.

"You seem to be in a rather pleasant mood," Albus commented as he entered the room.

Severus gave a small but sincere half-smile followed by a frustrated frown for showing such an honest expression.

"I am… eager to see the consequences of the Dark Lord's call combined with the deadened nerves. I finally have the chance to study the Mark without distractions; it may be the first and last time for such an opportunity, and we will use it well," He sat in a wooden chair and set his left arm on the desk in front of him, Mark bared upwards. He had acquired a stack of parchment, several automatic quills, and a clock from somewhere, most likely by bullying Poppy. "If our cover story holds, my current situation can only improve, regardless of whether I fail or succeed."

Only Albus – and perhaps the matron – who had studied the man closely for many years, could tell that this was the dour Potions Master's equivalent to any other person grinning and fidgeting excitedly. He hadn't seen such excitement from the bitter man in over a decade and felt something lift from his shoulders. So the man still had the capacity to feel such positive emotions. It was not too late.

"The Dark Lord will call soon, probably in ten to twenty minutes," He said impatiently. With his right hand, he readied two pieces of parchment to his side with a quill on each. "What I worry most is the possibility of not feeling the call at all. Then, I have no way of knowing whether he did or did not call and will not be able to collect any data."

"Stay alert, Albus. I will need your assistance through this."

The Headmaster nodded.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing else to do but wait.

Suddenly—

"He is calling!"

Severus began muttering rapidly to both quills but nothing on his face gave away anything he was feeling. His shoulder twitched, but his arm remained motionless; he stared intently at the Dark Mark, watching it for any movement or change. The scar had darkened to a deeper shade of grey and looked as if it was struggling, against what they couldn't be sure.

Severus paused and closed his eyes. A bump to the left arm with his right. A roll of his shoulders. A stretch of his back and a shake of the head. He resumed muttering but kept his eyes shut, continuing to jiggle every part of his body.

Albus leaned forward to glance at the notes, but the quick movements of the quills and the speed at which new parchment replaced the old only allowed him to catch several words at a time.

"Poppy!"

Albus jumped at the sudden bark.

"Get me Skele-Gro, four vials each of Anti-Paralysis Potion, Invigoration Draught, Numbing Potion, Calming Draught, and Awakening Potion… and Speeding Potions if you have it!"

"Albus, conjure ten goblet-sized cauldrons. On my left hand, vanish the bones in my thumb and index finger. On my right, vanish the bones in the ring and little fingers," He commanded. "Hurry!"

"Also cast a _Finite_ and a _Deletrius_, no a _Deletrius Maxima,_ on both arms. It should erase some of the remaining magical after-effects from battle curses."

Several minutes later, a harassed looking matron bustled in with a case of vials.

"Only one vial of Speeding Potion?" Severus remarked in between his mumbling. "Hmm, better than nothing."

"Albus, dump three vials of the Numbing Potion, two of Anti-Paralysis, and two of Invigoration in three different cauldrons. Poppy, feed me a dose of Skele-Gro… ugh, that's vile!"

"Someone paralyze my right middle, ring, and little fingers. Tip two vials of the Calming Draught into the Numbing Potion, cauldron one. Dunk those three fingers in for fifteen seconds. Now they're as similar as I can get to the left arm without permanent damage from overdose."

"Mix a dose of Skele-Gro with half a vial of the Speed in a fifth cauldron. Dunk the left thumb and right little finger, both vanished, into that. That should accelerate the regrowth, though excruciating. Hurry, put the left thumb to ring fingers and the right middle to little fingers into the Invigoration Draught, cauldron three. We need to catch the tail end of the Speeding Potion's effect."

"Ah, pause for a moment. I need to stand and inspect my body's reactions… There! In six seconds I'll need an Anti-Paralysis Potion in cauldron six and…"

The flurry of action between the three and the quills would have been too chaotic for a third party to follow. Poppy and Albus scrambled with the potions and cauldrons while Severus muttered and stimulated his body with rapid movement. There was barely a moment of rest between the witch and two wizards instigating a calamity within the room. It must have been comical to see three typically-composed adults running around like headless chickens.

They continued scrambling for twenty more minutes until the case of potions, and several more from Poppy's stores, were depleted and the Dark Lord's call faded. They all slumped back – exhausted – on stiff chairs they couldn't be bothered to transfigure. Even the pile of quills had collapsed on top of the stacks of parchment, incapable of responding to any further commands.

"Well, I believe that was the most exercise I have had in decades," Albus's voice was annoyingly cheerful in contrast to his slouching shoulders and tangled beard. "We must add that to our school curriculum."

Poppy snorted.

"Exercise? You call that exercise?" She raised her head from where it had fallen over the back of her chair. "That was… insanity."

They heard a groan from across the room where Severus was slowly making his way over to the bed, step by careful step. Poppy would have found the vision amusing had she not been so tired herself. She would love to crawl over to that bed and hibernate as well.

"Albus, Poppy, I am sincerely grateful for your assistance tonight. I agree, it was insanity, but I believe it may have borne fruit," He rasped out, "However, I doubt my strength and mental capacity to review our findings tonight, and the three of us seem to have over-expended our energies. Perhaps it would be wise to postpone our evaluation until after a night's rest."

"That is a most excellent suggestion. Shall we reconvene after breakfast?" Albus let out a relieved sigh.

No one answered, but they all agreed with half-lidded glances and dragged themselves off to bed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** A bit uneventful, but I hope you found it interesting. Tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

A few questions from me to my lovely readers: Do you wake from your dreams like that? Do your scars feel that way? Mine do, and I hope that doesn't make me crazy…

**Next chapter, I promise we'll move forward in the plot. So review with a quick click and motivate me to write faster!**

_Sun, Feb 12, 2012_


	10. Far Out of Reach

**Far Out of Reach **

"Do you think he's dead?" Hermione asked two days later as she studied in her library hideout, except what she was doing could only be called 'studying' in the loosest of terms.

She had woken up Friday morning feeling exhausted from a night of tossing and turning within nightmares. Her headache only increased when her eyes fell on Snape's black mask she had tossed on her desk before flopping into bed the night before.

The mask stared up at the ceiling, its face so empty of expression but so full of meaning. It represented the shadows of war and the struggles hidden within, the danger of every step taken, and the unknown. There were so many things she – they – didn't know.

And because of not knowing what happened to Snape, she had brooded through classes, watching Dumbledore discreetly during meals and, for the sake of Ron and Harry, covering her agitation by pretending to be angry from a lost point on homework. It didn't help that the two boys had spent the first hour of their cancelled Potions class in the corner of the Gryffindor common room plotting the downfall of Voldemort, which would probably cause the downfall of the entire world if they followed through with many of their ideas.

"D'you reckon we can shove You-Know-Who into the Veil?" Ron suggested warily, eying Harry for any sign of backlash.

Instead of answering immediately, Harry furrowed his brow and stared ahead at nothing in particular.

"That… might work," he said quietly.

"It's better than feeding him to a dragon," Ron grinned, relieved at Harry's calm reaction. "We wouldn't wanna to give Norbert indigestion."

"Where are you going to find the Veil?" Hermione asked feeling dread and attempting to put hurdles in front of any more discussion of the idea. Just earlier, she had pointed out the operational unfeasibility of putting all Death Eaters and supporters under the Imperius. "I doubt it's in the same spot or if we could reach it a second time. Don't you think the Ministry would have added more precautions?"

"Nah, we know what the layout is. There's no way they can change all that. The problem is getting You-Know-Who next to it."

"Of course they would have changed the entrance security and layout with magic," she insisted. "Only Unspeakables are supposed to know what's in the Department of Mysteries. I'm surprised they let us leave without wiping our memories."

"If we can get someone inside the Ministry…" Ron went on.

"Do you think anyone is going to help us break in again?" She asked with exaggerated doubt in her voice.

"If we can find someone in the Order on our side," Harry added, deep in thought. "We'll find a way to get in."

"Harry, we're all on the same side," Hermione reminded him sternly. "We would end up splitting up the Order, and that would only make us vulnerable."

"They're the Order. They should be able to deal with one or two people. It's not like we're asking them to defect," Harry dismissed. "We'll find someone. Remus or Tonks. Ron, what about Bill? Anyway, first keep an eye out for Remus. He comes at least once a week."

As they conversation shifted to topics less conspiratorial, she sighed in relief. They were moving at a snail's pace but moving forward nonetheless. She felt a twinge of guilt at sneaking behind their backs. It was exactly like she had said earlier; working in different directions would split the trio and make each of them vulnerable. However, the past years had shown her the dangers of acting recklessly and it would be better to place subtle obstacles in their paths to head off any hair brained ideas.

Night had passed without a word from the Headmaster. Merely a meaningful glance and a quick shake of his head sent her way during dinner with no comprehensible meaning at all, and Madam Pomfrey's late entry to the Great Hall. Was this their idea of 'informing' her?

She had tried to visit the Hospital Wing, but it had been strangely empty. Wasn't it against a Healer's oath or Hogwarts rule to leave the infirmary unattended? Hermione swore it was mentioned somewhere in _Hogwarts: A History_.

The next morning, she had visited again only to be turned away immediately by Madam Pomfrey and a "we will let you know". She realized how ridiculous she must look, standing frozen in front of the closed infirmary door for minutes.

Now she was slumped over her books, accompanied by Evander reading quietly in his armchair, and doing a poor job of studying. She propped her head up on her chin and peered at him. Did he even have real books in there to read? If so, he must surely have finished everything over the centuries.

"Isn't there a portrait in the Hospital Wing that you can spy from?" She asked suddenly.

He looked over his book with an irritated glower.

"Do not interrupt me while I am reading," he reprimanded her in a sharp whisper, "It's rude." He resumed reading.

"Well someone's in a sour mood today," she commented with raised eyebrows.

"That's because you are invading my space."

She snorted.

"Your space? Your space ends at that frame."

"I laid claim to this area centuries ago," he told her with a haughty sniff, "and you, girl, are trespassing."

"Goodness. You've turned into Malfoy," she laughed.

"Now you have moved on to insults. Children these days," he criticized, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "No manners at all. You would think they haven't been taught etiquette!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So why are in such a bad mood?"

"You," he said shortly.

"Me?" She said with mock surprise. "I've been nothing but charming."

"Yes, you," He glared at her. "You've been mumbling about arms and hospital wings all morning. I haven't managed to read anything with you disturbing the peace."

"Really?" She eyed him curiously. There must be more to this than his usual mood swings today. "This can't be the first time I've mumbled, but it's never bothered you before."

He sent her another glare. "If you must know, it's Severus. I'm pondering the same thing you are," he scowled at no one in particular. "You asked whether there are paintings in the Hospital Wing. Well, there is one, but I can't see a thing from it," he stood up from his armchair, cursed, and began pacing. "It is on the opposite side of anything important which occurs in there. Nothing! It can be moved around the room, but _I _can't since I am _inside_ the painting."

Hermione knew Evander's behavior swung between young and mature quite often, but she had never seen him so petulant. One would think he had multiple personality disorder with how he acted. She usually thought it a form of amusement when taking a short break during her study sessions, but there was an overly childlike quality to him this morning. Where was the man with whom she had debated Arithmancy just days ago?

"Why does it matter?" She gave him a puzzled look. "I thought you don't talk to anyone."

"I did once. Severus was the last person I befriended before you, and he is the reason I haven't made another effort to do so," he said and slowed his pacing. "He was brilliant and eager. I looked forward to each one of his visits like I do with yours. But over the years, I watch him transform. Scars on top of scars. Towards the end of his time at Hogwarts, he was still eager but for the Dark Arts."

"I couldn't stop him. He shared with me many things but wouldn't listen to anything I said. I tried to pull him back, but he has always been stubborn," he growled through a clenched jaw, his voice growing louder as he grew angrier. "It was the first time I felt so useless. Someone I cared for was ruining himself right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything because I am a painting… a painting! And how could I, a painting, feel such hopelessness?"

He paused and dropped his voice back to a whisper. The anger slowly changed into resentment, and Hermione felt like reaching past the paint to hold his hand to relieve some of his pain. She began to see the difficulties of being stuck in the world but not fully within, only able to observe. She realized this was exactly how she was beginning to feel with everything around her. The Order, the Headmaster, Ron and Harry – especially Harry. Was there nothing she could do?

"I haven't spoken to Severus since then, and I haven't spoken to Dumbledore either since then. I blamed him. I still blame him. Him and his favorites, those vulgar Gryffindor pests," he spit out. "Remember this always, girl. Purebloods and Dark Lords are not the only bigots in this world."

He picked up the book that had fallen to the floor when he had stood and sat back down with a sharp glance at Hermione. "That is why I haven't bothered myself with another student. I didn't wish to care for another only to see them fall."

She frowned, "Then why me?"

"I've watched you very closely, girl. You touch the darkness year after year but haven't been tempted once," he explained quietly. "I don't believe you will fall." He had watched her, stalked her even, after she snuck into the Restricted Section in her second year. At first, it was merely curiosity and too much free time, but that curiosity had grown and swelled until he couldn't stop himself from calling out to her. He had played it safe but had been relieved and surprised that his first act of courage in twenty years was going so well. "He soaked in darkness, but you seem to repel it."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling.

"I think I understand, or at least I'm starting to. It's happening with Harry. What did you say to Professor Snape when you tried to stop him?"

"I laid out the consequences, of course, and told him about my past experiences with such unsavory characters. That didn't touch him, so I shared tale after tale of the evil who have passed through the ages. Grindelwald and your Dark Lord are not the first and will not be the last. I thought that showing him the fates of those who serve them would be enough, but one only sees what they want and what they have convinced themselves of. Remember that as well."

After several minutes of deep silence, she returned to her books with more on her mind than before. What Evander just said had given her a vague idea of what was in front of Harry if he continued down his current path. It was time to hit the history books, she thought with bitter amusement. Maybe she could slip ugly history in her attempts to dissuade the two boys.

"No Harry, that won't work! Dark Lord Number Fifty-two ate the dragon for afternoon tea instead of being eaten." Or "Ron, that's not safe at all! Did you know that once upon a time, Resistance X tried to blow up the Drunk Knights of Evil Farmlands? That's where the atrocious name Hogsmeade came from. They bungled the spelling a bit, but the point is it also flattened the village that used to be there. You don't want to lose the recipe for butterbeer, do you?"

Her sudden snicker shattered the somber mood. "But really, that's twenty years isn't it? Twenty years is a ridiculously long time to hold a grudge."

That grabbed his attention.

"Don't you think you're being a bit _petty_?" She commented. "And rather cliché."

Evander's jaw dropped at the innocent curiosity she planted on her face. A moment later, he huffed indignantly and marched out of the painting, his book tumbling back onto the carpet with a loud thud.

* * *

><p>As agreed, Poppy and Albus joined Severus in the private infirmary room after breakfast. It seemed two of the three suffered a difficult night while the third turned into sunshine and rainbows.<p>

"Albus, either share your miracle treatment or tone it down," Severus groaned. "You're radiating light and happiness all over the place, and it's killing my eyes."

The Headmaster smiled happily and replied, "A furry nightcap and a lullaby can do much good for the body and even more for the mind."

"Ugh, Poppy, can't you fix his insanity?" He groaned and dropped his head into his hand. "This is why I try to skip breakfast as often as possible."

"I don't see why you're tired," the matron said crossly. "You only jiggled your body and barked out orders while we did everything for you."

"_Jiggled_?" He said looking horrified and insulted. "I didn't _jiggle_. _Jiggling_ is what happens when Albus dances. I, on the other hand, jolted precise points of my body to test their reactions to stimulus, which requires tremendous muscle control. And I didn't merely 'bark out orders'. I instantly formulated effective experimental sequences under rapidly changing conditions, which requires tremendous mental control. I barely had either last night because, if you didn't notice, I had just survived two disastrous apparation attempts immediately after waging war with a crowd of insane men," He growled and glared. "My body _hurt_."

"You sound as if you're writing the cover letter for a job application," she teased.

"Now, now," Albus admonished cheerfully, "We would not want to exhaust ourselves before we begin the day. Friends must support each other through difficult times."

He was immediately on the receiving end of two murderous glares from two pairs of sleep deprived eyes. The Headmaster took no notice of the angry attention and sat sunnily in his cozy armchair, happily stroking his beard and sucking on a lemon drop.

"Oh, I must apologize! No wonder you two are upset. I have yet to offer lemon drops or tea!" He said apologetically and reached into the folds of his violet robes to pull out a handful of bright yellow candy. "Here, children, take these. I insist. These are as crucial to what you call my miracle treatment as sleep!"

* * *

><p>Once Severus's notes from the night before were spread out chaotically across the enlarged desk, he used his customary red quill with an automatic movement charm to begin viciously marking his own work. Albus and Poppy were sitting on opposite sides reading through them as well, adding commentary in the margins with violet and green quills. They worked in an efficient system of each adding comments on topics within their expertise and then passing on their completed page counter-clockwise. Poppy examined medicinal aspects, Severus dissected the Dark Mark and potions, and Albus reviewed a mix of both and everything else. Every once in a while, one would toss out a question to the other two for their opinions or explanations to incorporate into their own thoughts.<p>

Three full rotations later, they slowed to a halt, Severus looking hatefully at the organized stacks of parchment which had originally been parchment strewn every which way.

"Severus," Poppy grumbled and gestured at the table with her hand, "Couldn't you have made this more… organized?"

He sneered and answered with dripping sarcasm, "I sincerely apologize. How remiss of me to overlook a table of contents. It would only have disrupted the flow of observations crucial to the progression of the experiment."

But he had to agree. The notes had been a mess of every thought and idea which hit him last night; it was half an hour of randomness on paper and ink. Even after connecting the dots and rewriting them on fresh parchment, Albus and Poppy had difficulty comprehending the words. Having criticized his students for dreadful essays for over a decade, Severus was mortified to have written such an appalling thing.

"We will begin at the Mark's activation which occurred around half nine. As we saw, the color did not reach the usual jet black. As it flared, I felt a twinge immediately above the scar line past the shoulder. We also noticed the Mark shifting slightly through the call. While I felt nothing within the deadened area, I felt a weak force trying to climb its way past my arm and into the rest of my body. It was like webbing or roots where the power spreads but grows sparse as we move farther away from the focus. I had previously thought the Mark only caused pain to the flesh directly underneath."

"The pain itself was much more muted, but my body clearly recognizes the Dark Lord's call. I believe the curse anchors itself to blood vessels or nerves, or both. But if so, something within the flesh is weakening the curse Mark from spreading through the entire body. Most such curses, take the Cruciatus for example, encompass the entire body. I felt nothing in my feet."

"Then what was your reasoning for vanishing the bones?" Albus asked, recalling it to be the first task he had been commanded to perform.

"Partly to test the effect of the Mark on flesh itself, partly to test healing capabilities, and partly to try to feel a non-curse form of pain in the area. Skele-gro. I also needed to differentiate between the pain from our actions and the pain from my injuries," Severus said while pinching the flesh of his left palm and looked closely at the fingers with newly regrown bones. "Did you notice my notes mentioning the multiple twitches in my left hand during bone regrowth? We need to test the cause since Skele-gro fills the area of the missing bone from inside out even when the process is accelerated. It should have inflated the fingers rather than cause them to shudder. We may be able to build something on that."

A strange glint flashed in his eyes, part curious and part confused. Then he seemed to realize what was bothering him and turned casually to the matron.

"Poppy," he said innocently as if he was discussing the weather, "I believe the slice to my side may have split open again; some of the idiots knew vicious curses but couldn't perform them half right. Will you fix it?" It was best to appear unaffected or he might trigger her anger and endure another hour of scolding.

"'May have split open'?" Poppy repeated incredulously and rushed over. "Move aside, Albus."

Severus allowed her to lift his shirt to examine the tender skin on his right side which had indeed ripped open some time during their study session. She exclaimed at the blood dripping down the skin and quickly set to work, cleaning the injury and knitting the skin back together with weaving motions of her wand.

"Idiot boy, I don't know how you didn't feel it," she muttered disapprovingly. "Stop Occluding the pain or you won't be able to tell if you hurt yourself like this. This cut is deep enough to have prevented you from flexing your entire side and stomach," she pointed out and poked his side. "Can you feel this? Someday, you won't notice your entrails fall out."

"Speaking of pain," Severus ignored her and said, "After applying the Awakening Potion and Invigoration Draught on the right hand with which we emulated the deadened arm, I felt a trace of Skele-gro pain. The Numbing Potion acts to create a nerve block; fifteen seconds of concentrated contact to the solution combined with the Calming Draught slows movement for a short while. _Something_ in the Awakening and Invigoration is reversing the effect. I wanted to repeat the test, but any more would have caused permanent damage. However, it's not essential since we already have a target."

"Permanent damage!" Poppy exclaimed angrily. "You didn't mention that in your notes. That is going too far!"

He shot her a smirk. It was always amusing to see her motherly temper even when directed at him, as long as she didn't become truly furious. Then he would need to run, which wasn't possible in his current state.

"That's why I didn't use all my fingers. I'm not stupid enough to risk losing all mobility," he stopped himself from mentioning his uncertainty of how the billywig would react with the lovage; there had been a fifty-fifty chance of shredding through both the nerve block and nerves.

She would no doubt breathe fire if she found out.

The Headmaster nodded his approval of Severus's methods despite knowing the risks. He was impressed by the man's knowledge of potions and his ability to instinctively sense the necessary actions following new observations. That was a talent rarely found in the world, even among experts within any field. A true Potions Master indeed.

"The Awakening and Invigoration negated some of the effects of the Numbing and Calming on the right hand," Severus went on, "That's why I had you pour it on the Mark, as well. It didn't return feeling to my arm, but above the scar line I could feel the Mark reduce its struggling, which is odd since I expected its force to increase. The flesh is reacting even if I couldn't feel it."

"It reminds me of a rebellious child who calms when you stop trying to control him," The comment was greeted with silence. "I never expected the Dark Lord to be juvenile." He had thought him an overly vengeful monster but had never thought of the Dark Lord as a boy. Of course he had been a child at one point in time. But while most grew out of those immature characteristics or tossed them out for the sake becoming normal adults, he must have retained much in his arrogance. He was the Dark Lord after all; with the power of a king, he could act however he wanted. Fool.

"However juvenile he may be, You-Know-Who is still the greatest threat to the wizarding world, and he is the one controlling you and many other powerful wizards," Poppy admonished, her words mirroring his thoughts, though lacking the amusement. "Is this really the time to be making jokes?" She sniffed, pulling a stack of parchment towards her and flipped through them, looking for a particular page. "If you wish to develop a treatment, do so immediately. I do not intend to wait on you hand and foot for much longer, but while you are injured I require you to stay in the Hospital Wing."

"No, I need my lab," he objected and swept his eyes around the room with a sneer. "I can't brew in _here_. Just send a house elf to my quarters."

"Absolutely not. You would just bully the poor thing into submission; you can floo to your lab from here, but I will check in on you every two hours so don't even think about doing anything reckless. You will take proper meals and sleep in this room," Her eyes lit up and glinted smugly. "I'm also setting a curfew at ten."

"What! Curfew?" He exclaimed. "I haven't had curfew since I was a student. Just because I am injured does not mean I will be treated as a child."

"You have the restraint of a child," she pointed out with disapproval. "I know for a fact that you will work yourself to death. It is my job to heal you, and I will do so properly."

"Then make it two," he groaned inwardly. He had always been terrible at haggling. That was why he was such an expert at slipping out of any tight situation. The necessity of finding loopholes had honed his Slytherin skills better than anyone else.

"That's ridiculous. What's the point of curfew if it's set so late? Half past ten."

"Half past ten? That's when snot-nosed children sleep," He gave her a withering look. "Twelve forty-nine."

Poppy snorted.

"Eleven. I'm not allowing you out any later than that," she said with finality. "You may have forgotten, but you are supposed to be healing."

"Fifteen after twelve…" Shit, he knew by the tone of her voice that he had lost. He could negotiate science and argue strategy on any day, _successfully_, so why couldn't he haggle such simple terms?

"Very well," he growled reluctantly. Well, she had said nothing about waking early.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as if she suspected foul play, but a little girl's sobbing voice calling out her name gave her no time to look deeper. She shot him a frustrated don't-you-dare-do-anything-wrong glare and rushed out to console the girl.

When he was sure she had left Severus sighed, knowing he had passed this round of inquisition. She knew him well enough to see through several of his masks, but he never knew which, making her more dangerous than most.

He finally turned to Albus.

"May I ask you to retrieve my robes over there?" He said quietly, suddenly serious. "I need to give you the cause of this predicament."

He took them from Albus and reached elbow-deep into the robes. He dug around for half a minute until giving up with a frustrated growl he could only half stifle.

"Albus, can you _accio_ _wooden box_?" He asked sharply. Being too weak to access his magic was getting on his nerves. "I know it's in here somewhere, but the cloth has been shredded so much that it's fallen into a crevice. I enlarged the pocket and enveloped it in a shield, but the assault deformed it."

As the Headmaster waved his wand, the Severus hid his longing for the faint rush of magic filling the air. He vowed to someday find a solution to magically restore magic without risk of losing all of it; Poppy had chewed him out for fixing his own back the night before.

A brown rectangular box the size of his palm flew out of the tattered robes into the Headmaster's hand. It was beaten and dented but held intact with powerful shields.

"No, don't open it yet," Severus cautioned. "Do you remember that cloaking shield I created years ago to hide spells? I reworked it last summer. What do you detect?"

"A burning jinx and an exploding curse," he listed while studying the box intently. "An Entrail-Expelling Curse, and a sense that something has been muffled. Ah, portkey activated by grasp of ill-intent which, Severus, happens to be illegal," he frowned his disapproval. "What else could…"

"Look closer," Severus pressed, eyes glittering triumph.

Albus closed his eyes and grasped the box tighter but felt nothing more than what he had previously discovered. The man had pointed out his cloaking spell which he would have discovered easily without the warning. Did he mean a double layer cloaking? He carefully teased his senses beneath the wards, looking for the layer of cloaking magic and felt it, but something was odd about it. As Severus had said, he had reworked it and restructured the composition; it was woven tighter than before and shifted almost unnoticeably…

"This is…" Albus whispered, "I have never before seen such a design."

"I am certain you understand why I haven't shown this to anyone," Severus said quietly, "Can you imagine the danger?"

"Yes," The word was muttered absently as Albus continued to test the barriers. "How did you do this? I would have taken months had it even occurred to me to create such a thing."

"The cloaking would have worked for most, but there are those powerful enough to feel the cloak and look deeper as you have. But even you didn't dig deeper. What can be sensed can be broken in the end regardless of how powerful and complex it is if one had the skill and patience."

He had Albus to remove the wards above the cloaking shield and smiled darkly.

"While that has been effective for ages in the past, I realized that if _I_ was able to do so, there would certainly be others. Therefore I devised this shield to seem like a simple cloak, but in actuality, it is infused with another layer of magic," Severus elaborated. "Certain portions of the original cloaking spell are still there and can be sensed, but there are almost invisible threads woven within to fill the holes. Those can be any spell, curse, or ward you wish, but the crucial part is underneath. The holes create a layer of magical residue which leaves an almost invisible layer of magical particles on the object and acts as another buffer – 'almost' meaning nearly undetectable. It is stronger and more dangerous and more effective than the main layer because it _sticks_, and they are too small to sense unless you are looking for it, like dust in carpet."

"The idea came from magical residue which causes explosive reactions to potions instruments and ingredients."

"Amazing spellwork," Albus muttered, still working through what he had seen.

"I confess, it took me half a year to develop this," Severus said, embarrassed. "Sizing the particles took the most time since you can't shrink magic itself."

"I agree. This cannot be revealed," the Headmaster said quietly. "If the Dark Arts were infused with this, we would lose any advantage."

"You cannot tell the rest of the order either. Not many are capable of Occlumency," Severus added. "The spell also takes an Occlumens to cast it. Others do not have the mental control."

"How do you remove it?"

"By layering on another cloaking spell infused with the summoning spell and pealing it off carefully. The first residue layer will mesh with the _accio's_ residue which has a stronger pull."

Albus did as told and looked in awe at the unwarded box. Severus had seen him so captivated only twice before and was flattered at the reaction, but it was time to move forward.

"Albus, we need to discuss the contents, which are infinitely more important than the magic. We can work through it after analyzing the files," he examined the room and said, "This room is adequate. You will need to restore its size. It is quite a large collection."

It was _enormous_ and filled the entire space.

"We'll have to go through the contents slowly," Severus said as he considered the dreaded task ahead. "I need a list of his colleagues' names as soon as possible. It will take time identify their expertise and follow their recent activities. We need to find who has allied themselves with the Dark Lord and deduce what he has them working on, but I will first need to regain use of my arm," Severus grumbled.

"Ah yes, Poppy mentioned something about you missing an arm," the Headmaster said pleasantly.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Albus."

"You are incapable of conducting research alone."

"That's what you are here for," the Potions Master pointed out.

"I cannot accompany you through this. You must find someone else," Albus said regretfully, though Severus was sure it was faked. "However, I believe you have a capable assistant."

Severus groaned.

"She has been concerned about your wellbeing, and there is no one else trustworthy enough who also knows what you do."

"Why does it always come down to her?" He protested in frustration. He quickly ran through a mental list of everyone he knew and realized it was a rather depressing list. If he eliminated his past and current students, excluding Order members, half of it was made up of Death Eaters. In the other half, Albus and Poppy, Kinsley, Bill Weasley and… and… Shit, they were the only ones skilled enough in potions to be of any use, and none of them were available.

"Very well, I will use her," he said flatly.

"Wonderful!" Albus clapped his hands together. "I assume you wish to start immediately."

* * *

><p>Hermione had just returned to the library from lunch with a much improved attitude and ready to study when a house elf had cracked onto the desk in front of her, on top of her books, almost toppling over her bottle of ink. Unaffected by the mess, he squeaked out the summon from Snape and left as loudly as he had appeared.<p>

A second later, she scrambled to collect her books and rushed off to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomfrey shoved her in the floo with a "Severus Snape's Front Room". She tumbled onto her knees in a fit of coughs and briefly wondered when she would get the hang of flooing. But that was forgotten when she realized she was in Snape's quarters, on Snape's floor, and in Snape's presence. She couldn't have made a worse impression of herself. She quickly picked herself off the floor and looked around while hastily dusting of, which caused another fit of coughs.

The space she had stepped into was a dark dreary room with cold stone walls and several weak candles offering dim, flickering lighting. There was threadbare armchair, several stiff wooden chairs, and a stained wooden table in front of the fireplace. An empty chipped cup sat on the surface, looking as if it hadn't seen better days in years. She was surprised by two half-empty bookshelves placed against a back corner of the room; the lack of books didn't seem to fit who she thought was a well-read man. All in all, it was a depressing place which even incited depression. No wonder Snape was in a bad mood all the time.

It was also devoid of Snape.

She sighed in relief and straightened her robes with her dignity still intact.

She assumed he was expecting her arrival since she had been 'summoned', but she was unwilling to test his nonexistent hospitality by touching anything without his permission. Across the room, there was a door barely ajar with dim light peeking out of the cracks. He was most definitely in that direction, but with the combination of good manners her dear mother had drilled into her and the unknown variable that was Snape, she decided entering without invitation went against her survival instinct.

So she waited. Recently, she seemed to be falling into the habit of waiting for the Potions Master, and it was getting rather repetitive. Was he doing this on purpose to get back at her for intruding on his life? That would be rather petty of him. It also seemed she was falling into the habit of surrounding herself with petty people.

Oh well, she had waited long enough.

She gathered her shields to fend off the insults which were sure to be thrown her way, and took quiet steps to the door. It was a battered door with a rusting handle. Why was everything in this room battered? Couldn't he just fix everything with his wand, or did he not care?

She was only steps away when a loud crack to her right caused her to jump.

The same house elf from earlier, who she now noticed was battered as well, glared at her and pointed sharply at the door. With a nod, he cracked out again. What a pleasant personality, exactly a mirror to Snape's, she smiled to herself.

The moment Hermione stepped into the lab, she noticed Snape sitting on a stool studying a stack of parchment. Her eyes immediately swept down his body, and she sighed in relief as she counted two arms instead of one. The image of his ashen face and shredded chest, as well as the severed and very bloody arm suddenly appeared on the ground in front of her, sending a jolt through her hand which had touched and healed that corpse. Then the illusion blinked out.

"Professor?" She grimaced at how weak her voice sounded. "Are you alright, sir?"

He looked up and eyed her thoughtfully before nodding sharply, exactly as the house elf had done earlier, before turning and walking to the tall cabinet she knew to hold dry ingredients. She followed curiously, wondering why she had been called and what her first task would be. Perhaps a Cough-Cure Concoction?

But he didn't open the door. Instead, he reached above the cabinet and placed his hand flat on the top surface, a surface she would only be able to reach by standing on a stool, and almost inaudibly mumbled a string of unintelligible words. She edged closer to make sense of the words, but it sounded to her like string of gibberish meshed together. As soon as he stopped speaking, three door handles spaced one foot apart materialized on the wall to their left. They were as different from each other as door handles could be. One was a short, horizontal bar in rough iron, the second was a round wooden knob with flowery carvings, and the third was a smooth, golden, flat and thin piece stretching five feet vertically.

He suddenly turned to her and asked quietly, "Which would you choose?"

Her eyes opened wide at the unexpected question. He had never spoken to her without issuing a command or spitting out an insult, and certainly not in such a subdued tone; the words were conversational and free of derision, just a simple question asking for a simple answer. But of course it was never simple with Snape.

She took a deep breath and studied the three for a moment, wondering what the criteria were, and more importantly, what the consequences of choosing the wrong handle were. She tried to imagine which he would choose and which he wouldn't choose. This was a situation where Ron's instinct for strategy would be helpful. Where she could have guessed which ones her two best friends would choose, she couldn't with Snape because she simply didn't know how his mind worked. There was no trail of logic to follow.

The only thing she could do was to take the plunge.

Turning her face to meet Snape's blank one, she answered with a cringe, "I don't think I should be the one to choose."

That earned her another thoughtful glance. "In actuality, there are four handles," his said as his hand reached one foot past the right most handle to grasp something and tug. A rectangular section of the wall shimmered, and a door materialized behind the handles. "But never tie yourself to one answer."

She followed him through a dark hall and down a flight of stairs, passing three paintings before stopping at a fourth. There was nothing special about it other than its blankness, but that in itself made it special. Paintings in Hogwarts were never blank. Empty, yes, but blank? Never. She wondered enthusiastically about where it would lead and what kind of protection this one would have.

But he merely hooked a hand behind the edge of one side and pulled it open. No password. No handles. No flash of light or explosions or even a creak. It just opened.

Her brow lifted. She was more surprised by this anticlimactic non-reaction than by the elaborate protection previously. Her mind had been on a high from the excitement of the other entrance and anticipation for the next, but it came to a sudden halt at _this_.

Her eyes traced the edges of the painting, looking for something to show it wasn't so… boring. But it was just a plain, white canvas with no magic infused. Perhaps this was exactly the reaction he was looking for from anyone breaking in. If they somehow passed the entrance, they would expect something just as elaborate and never think to open it like a normal door. She could practically feel Snape's amusement at her disappointment.

And he was indeed amused; Albus had had the same reaction, although very well hidden. And Minerva, he thought fondly. She, who was almost always annoyingly composed, had exclaimed out loud at the main entrance and then huffed and puffed at this boringness as if it had personally insulted her. The memory still brought him amusement, even a decade after the incident. Comparatively, Granger's control of her emotions was to be applauded, and this girl was only sixteen, or was it seventeen? Only her open facial expressions needed some work but the reaction itself was well controlled. Interesting.

They stepped through – or in Hermione's case clambered through – into a brightly lit, pristine potions laboratory.

Pristine.

Hermione gawked at the smooth counter surfaces, the cauldrons lined neatly against the wall, instruments of all uses placed in cabinets with glass doors, the bookcases filled with books which she could tell were on everything anyone would want to know about potions. And was this room temperature controlled? She began to fantasize about what the storeroom would look like. It must be beautiful inside, she thought dreamily. She was surely ruined for any other potions laboratory in the world.

"Don't tell me you truly thought that decrepit laboratory upstairs is where I conduct my research," he said blandly.

"Um…" she muttered with a sheepish glance at him before quickly dropping her eyes. Now that she thought carefully, it was blaringly obvious. How had she forgotten that he was a Potions Master? She had searched for and gushed over his research like Lavender did each month over Witch Weekly's Top Ten Hunkiest Wizards.

Hermione glanced at him again, apologetically this time, but he didn't seem offended.

"You are not to tell anyone of what you see today," he said.

She agreed enthusiastically, "Of course, sir." Nothing could distract her from her appreciation of the lab, not even his strange lack of malice. Oh my, were those temperature controlled vials? And was that book a study on Avicenna's theory of substance transmutation?

"Miss Granger, pay attention!" Snape's voice sliced through her daze. "You are here to assist me in researching a problem which has arisen recently."

Her attention immediately focused on his words, alert and curious.

"I am certain you recall, my arm was splinched," he said the word with a grimace but slipped smoothly into his lecture, "during apparation. What I performed is called instinctive apparation, which rarely occurs but the danger…"

It was fascinating.

Immediately after seeing it performed for the first time, Hermione had studied every book she could find on apparation because it was _teleportation_. How often had she fantasized about teleportation before knowing magic? She had been so excited when discovering that it was possible, possibly more excited than when she had found out she was a witch. Waving your wand and brewing potions was incredible as well, but with apparation you disappeared from one space to another. She had easily grasped the theory behind other forms of magic, but she had never been able to understand the logic in apparation.

And now instinctive apparation. In all the texts, it had always been speculation and a passing thought.

"Professor," she interrupted his monologue with a raised hand.

He stopped speaking and glared at her face, and then his eyes trailed up her arm to her hand and looked at it with disgust. "Yes, Miss Granger?" He bit out.

"I have read about apparation," Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Of course you have_, "but I haven't seen the term 'instinctive apparation' used anywhere in the references. Two or three of the texts mentioned something similar but it was more of a speculation. Is it a recently discovered form of apparation, sir?"

He stifled a groan. He dreaded the barrage of questions that were about to be thrown his way, and nothing he did could stop it. Granger was relentless when it came to learning and would utilize every resource available to her. Including him.

Oh well, he needed her to understand the topic, and if that happened through questions, he might as well answer. He sneered and replied, "The rarity of such incidents and the low survival rates allow for next to no opportunities for research. Even St. Mungos has only faced such a case once around seventy years ago, but the witch never recovered from the trauma and amnesia. It only received an official term recently due to the increased practice of Occlumency which increased the occurance of instinctive apparation. However, out of the few incidents, only three have survived the apparation. One lost his eyes, the second lost a leg, and the third came close to retrieving his missing lung but died in the attempt to reinsert it into his body."

Hermione shuddered at the gruesome details. "Why did the others not survive the apparation?"

"Their bodies were shredded in the process. The body parts were found between the space of departure and landing."

"Sir, does that mean apparation is a process of transportation through space rather than… um… disappearance and appearance?"

"There have been theories but no concrete answer."

"Could it be due to a difference between how normal apparation and instinctive…"

"Enough!" Snape snarled. His patience had been fading with each question, and there hadn't been much of it to begin with. "We will be studying an incident of such. If you wish to have a part in this, be quiet!"

"Yes, sir," she answered. Now Hermione was fascinated by a second subject: Snape. As always, he was unpleasant. No, that was an understatement. He was a bastard who made everyone's life hell. It was an undisputable fact. But today, he had spoken to her without insult and answered her questions. His temper was still the same, but instead of belittling her, he had almost talked to her like a professor would to a student. A callous professor, but not the devil that stormed into the classroom each day and hurled nasty words at everyone.

When Snape resumed speaking, his lecture was delivered in a more forceful and irritated manner. His shadowed face showed how much he loathed her presence, and his typically smooth voice had taken a abrasive quality which grated on her nerves. The man had returned to his devil self so suddenly it caught her off guard, but she firmly reminded herself that this was an incredible opportunity to learn from a Potions Master, an opportunity that most could only dream of.

But goodness, he was being long-winded today.

He paused and cocked an eyebrow as if he knew exactly what was on her mind.

"Miss Granger," he purred, "Is there a problem?"

_Erk_. Hermione suddenly felt like she was trapped in a cage with a dangerous beast about to slaughter her for disturbing its slumber. "N-no, sir," She suspected her face clearly showed how uneasy she was about his possible reaction to her impatience.

He leaned forward, his expressionless face somehow predatory. "Is that so? I can see you are uninterested. There is no reason to waste any more of my time or yours. Shall I escort you to the door?" And even though he was several meters away, she began to feel like the walls were closing in on her.

She leaned back just as much and scrambled for words. "No, sir! There is no need! This is fascinating and… and… I would very much like to learn more."

"I see," he said, the dangerous aura slowly receded into a sneer, "Then we will continue." He launched back into his monologue again. This time, it felt as if his words dragged longer and the number of pauses doubled. He… he… he was doing this intentionally! The first time he had been congenial, the second time he was hostile, and now he was just being plain annoying. This whole act was to throw her off balance and laugh at her expense. Bastard! If he wanted her to storm off in anger, it wasn't going to happen.

* * *

><p>"Let us begin."<p>

_Finally!_ Hermione cheered within.

"The object of this study is my arm. As you see, it has been reattached. However, I have lost all feeling in the limb below the splinch line due to deadened nerves. We are here to create a treatment to regain use of the limb," And after a barely noticeable moment of hesitation, he shrugged out of his robes and lifted his left arm onto the table.

As he pushed the sleeve up, he heard her take a sharp breath at the faded Dark Mark. He wondered what the reaction would be if she saw the Mark when active.

"This is another reason for repairing the arm. You know of my other occupation," he said with revulsion. "I cannot execute it with only one arm."

"Your task is to prepare ingredients in my stead," he said and handing her a long list of instructions. "Complete this."

She worked through the list diligently while Snape returned his attention to the stack of parchment, but this time writing something across a clean sheet. A neutral atmosphere formed between the two as both concentrated on their individual tasks, tuning the other out of their own worlds, and only the soft sounds of knife on wood and scratching quills filling the background.

It was quite some time later that Hermione regretfully interrupted the silence, "Professor, I have finished the preparation." Her back was covered in sweat, and her arms were sure to be sore the next day; she finally understood why Potions Masters, experts and educators often hired more than one assistant.

After scribbling to the end of a line, Snape slipped silently off his stool, his left arm flopping to his side, and stepped over to examine her work.

"Adequate," he said dismissively.

Hermione could feel herself about to form a scowl and immediately froze her facial muscles. His less hostile attitude had lowered her guards little by little but showing any weakness in front of Snape was dangerous and stupid; it only opened up holes for him to jab at.

Snape grabbed the entire stack of the parchment he had been studying and shoved it in front of her, only saying, "Read this," before immersing himself back into his world of calculations.

Hermione looked at the parchment in confusion; the words on the pages were spiky and messy and halfway to illegible. Were those a's, e's, o's, u's, or n's? She read through them by guesswork, filling in the blanks, or in this case illegible scribbles, with assumptions of words which might make sense. The result was a jumble of sentences in no particular order, like someone had cut sentences from a magazine and pasted them haphazardly on the page. Was this how his mind was organized? It didn't seem very… sane. Only her aptitude for Scrabble and experience in deciphering Neville's thought processes for potions allowed her to string gibberish into logical concepts. Snape would probably blow a fuse and boil her in a cauldron if he knew she had thought them similar.

He walked over to her just as she finished comparing her own notes to his. "Show me your notes," he demanded.

She had a vague idea that he was evaluating her competence and carefully watched his face, hoping to see any expression which gave away his thoughts, but he barely blinked as his eyes moved down the page. While in the past, only his teaching methods and treatment of Harry irritated her, but now his face, just as blank as the painting outside the room, seemed like the most frustrating thing she had ever faced. And it made her feel like an open book in comparison.

"Adequate," he said briskly.

She gaped. He may have accepted her practical skills in potions brewing, but he had never in the last five years given her positive or even a neutral comment for written work.

"Those were the basics," he said harshly as if to cover a slip. "Prepare four cauldrons. I will explain the process as they warm."

And with that, Hermione worked alongside Snape, doing her best to keep up with his rapid-fire instructions and asking questions which went unanswered. It was one of the most surreal experiences in her life. They worked through the afternoon with her hastily manning the cauldrons and him adjusting complicated formulas while occasionally adding ingredients of his own. Although she barely had a moment's rest from her first time handling four cauldrons simultaneously, she had never before learned so much about brewing and had never before felt so productive. It felt like she had completed four years' worth of advanced potions lessons in the span of four hours.

As soon as Hermione proudly bottled the last vial, the atmosphere changed. While the last several hours had not been comfortable, it had not been totally unpleasant either. Now, though, she suddenly felt nervous, like something critical was about to happen.

Snape grasped one of the many precisely labeled vials and lifted it to his face to eye the murky liquid expressionlessly. Tense seconds later, he set it down with a soft tap and turned to face her.

"Miss Granger," he spoke stonily, "It is now time to begin testing."

* * *

><p><em>Are you nervous, Severus?<em>

_Sun, Feb 19, 2012_


	11. Like Death

**Like Death **

"_Miss Granger," he spoke stonily, "It is now time to begin testing."_

As if his words flipped a switch, they both jumped into action. He cleared a space to place his arm while Hermione organized the vials into clusters as outlined in the notes. He then awkwardly commanded her to vanish his shirt sleeve, and she did so just as awkwardly, feeling flustered as Snape's pale, wiry arm flashed into view. Last time she had seen this much skin was when he had been a corpse, but seeing it while he was conscious… it was only an arm, but it was more of Snape she ever wanted to see.

They were about ready to start, and she took stock of their situation. While she felt as if they might make a mistake and destroy his arm forever, Snape looked as if he was thinking the same thing. Where was his usual composure? It wasn't reassuring at all, but Hermione understood – she really did – because she had also tested magic on her body and completely fudged it up – the most memorable being the awful Polyjuice incident. She still remembered the embarrassment of having curly whiskers. Seriously, what cat had curly whiskers?

She cast a spell that erected magical walls to section off small, rectangular patches of skin. The arm now looked as if someone had tattooed onto it a grid. The spell was like a shielding spell except it was so precise and firm that it prevented potions from mixing even after absorbing into the flesh. Hermione wondered where he had learned or whether he had developed it himself. She wouldn't put it past him. She would have asked him to teach her ages ago had Snape been a normal person and not a snarling devil.

After flipping to the next page of instructions, she reached for the first vial and looked up at Snape for confirmation to move forward, only to see his narrowed eyes watching each of her movements closely. Hermione froze and blushed bright red as she realized that it was _his_ research and _his_ arm that she had taken over.

"Erm, sir," Hermione stuttered, quickly thinking of something to say before he flew into a rage, "Have I set this up correctly?"

She groaned to herself,_ that's just inviting him to insult me_.

His eyes shifted from her wand to her face and gave her a piercing glare. "Another inane question, Miss Granger?" he snapped. "Just pay attention and get on with it. I want my arm to remain in one piece."

Hermione swallowed visibly and checked the notes for the Application Phase before pouring half a vial of clear blue liquid onto the first section of skin. Quickly writing down the immediate observations, she set an alarm to ring in five minutes. She repeated the steps for the first cluster of vials which was based on the Awakening Potion. After each five minute alarm went off, she wrote down another set of observations for each section.

Hermione moved on to the second cluster of murky green potions, this one based on the Invigoration Draught. Only when she looked up for permission to begin the second cluster did she notice he was also writing down his own set of observations. Good, two sets of observations for comparison was infinitely better than one set written clumsily by her.

After a sharp nod from him, she repeated the process with all four clusters of potions, finally stopping when all the potions had been tested and the last timer had gone off. The entire arm, excluding the rectangular area sectioning off the Dark Mark which they were leaving untouched until finding a treatment, was now covered in patches of different colored skin. She barely stifled a chuckle at seeing Snape wearing so much color.

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Is there something you would like to share?"

"No, sir," she answered contritely.

"Then we will commence Diagnosis Set One. Flip to page seven of instructions. This diagnosis spell reveals the composition of flesh. I assume you have never cast it before."

"No, sir. I have only read about it but haven't had the opportunity to try."

Snape snorted._ Of course you have_, he thought for the second time that day.

"Here are the movements. You must cast it precisely, or you will waste my time with inaccurate results."

They continued through Diagnosis for all clusters, and then moved into Stimuli Testing Phase One: poking, pinching, scratching, hitting, etc. It was plain disturbing, and she let him take care of this step since she didn't want to abuse a teacher – especially not Professor Snape.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, interrupting his stimuli testing of skin Cluster Five. "Cluster Three is reacting. Badly!"

"Shit, it's the extra billywig. Cast a stasis!" Snape cursed. "Granger, a stasis now!"

It took her three seconds to recover enough from the shock of seeing orange boils bubble from the skin to suspend it under stasis. The boils and ripped skin were sickening – the pus was orange! – and even Snape couldn't hide a queasy grimace.

"What do we do now, sir?" She choked out, not fully recovered from the panic.

"Cast a diagnosis," he answered with a scowl.

"Do you… feel anything, sir?" She asked as her wand swept above the arm. It showed the billywig had indeed reacted to the lovage, causing an overload of stimuli to any flesh exposed to the air.

"No, but we can rule out any Awakening solution with more than three billywig stingers," he replied, eyeing the disgusting mess. "Get a vial of Boil-Cure."

The rest of the clusters caused no negative reactions, but there were no positive reactions either. She looked hopelessly at the now blotched skin, her heart sinking at the thought of failure and what it would mean for Snape. She could feel his frustration rising along with hers and knew that soon, either she would start thumping her forehead on the counter or his temper would explode; both of those seemed rather distasteful, especially in such a wonderful, pristine setting, and it appeared to be up to her to head off the disasters.

Hermione took a deep breath and asked, "Sir, could armadillo bile be useful with the Invigoration solutions instead of billywig since it is the active ingredient in the Wit-Sharpening Potion?" She paused to gauge his reaction, but his stony face revealed nothing as usual. "I don't think it will act against the lovage and it might even recreate a connection of flesh to the brain."

Snape's angry face showed a flash of surprise before it was smoothed away to indifference. He had to admit, her idea made sense. Armadillo bile and lovage were rarely combined because its effect was so similar, but the idea had merit.

"I also think the mashed catfish eyes from Mandrake fertilizer, ground pomegranate seeds in Infection-Cure Potion, and lemon peels for zest could be tested as well," she went on, lowering her head to study each section of skin. Without thinking she reached out curiously to feel the texture flesh but snatched her hand back at a hair's breadth away from the skin as she remembered this was Snape. He most certainly would not appreciate her audacity. She rose hastily and snapped her head up to apologize, but the words died in her mouth as she saw his thoughtful expression.

"Miss Granger, your suggestions are very… unusual," he said grudgingly, "Perhaps a new outlook from a mind not yet conformed to conventional potions may provide some useful observations."

For a moment, Hermione's mind froze in confused at his words. It sounded as if he had spoken in a completely different language – which he had, since that was certainly not Snape-speech – but when her mind wrapped around his meaning, she couldn't hold back a delighted grin that split her face.

"Prepare a list tonight for testing tomorrow morning, seven o'clock sharp," he said with a sharp glare. "However, before I am rid of you, we must heal this nauseating chaos of an arm."

* * *

><p>Hermione skipped to the Hospital Wing and hopped through the floo after an evening in the library and a night of deep, refreshing sleep. She happily tumbled out of the fireplace and bounced to what she now referred to as the 'Outer Lab'. Anyone observing her would have said she had lost her sanity – not that she cared – this bright and wonderful morning. She greeted Snape with a polite but sunny "Good morning" and waited to be led down to what she called the 'Dream Room'. She certainly felt like she was in a wonderful dream.<p>

Severus, on the other hand, wanted to stab her as he did every morning with Albus. If this girl offered him sweets or tea or _anything_, he would rip her throat out and use it as the crucial ingredient in the extremely rare, extremely difficult, and extremely dangerous Siren Elixir. Her throat could probably make four to five vials, and he was sure there were many unsavory but filthy rich characters around the world that would pay a fortune for one drop. In his current position of nearly dissolved ties to both the Dark and Light sides, he could safely escape to Brazil and live the rest of his life in peace and luxury among all the exotic potions ingredients found in the rainforest.

Unfortunately, she stayed quiet, though smiling like an idiot, and gave him no excuse to seize his paradise. He always cursed having a conscience.

"Pepper-Up, four batches, Hospital Wing," he grunted with his usual morning charm.

Hermione almost cried in disappointment. She was so close to the Dream Room – just three doors away – but instead of happily researching, she was mashing newt tails. Gross.

An hour later, she finally finished and it seemed Snape's disposition had improved as well; he almost looked eager to start testing.

As soon as they entered the Dream Room, Hermione shoved several pages of parchment into his hand and immediately began enthusiastically preparing the lab, completely forgetting proper etiquette…

Severus stood at the entrance with a cocked eyebrow, clutching crumpled parchment, and was about to kick her out when is irritation turned to amusement at her humming. Never in his life had he been treated so casually and without fear by anyone other than several colleagues at Hogwarts. As one corner of his lips twitched, he decided to watch what would happen when she realized what she had done. He was certain there was more amusement to come.

It took her until she finished setting up to wake from her happy trance. She suddenly stopped, her arm frozen halfway on its path to place a vial on the table. She took a sharp breath and spun around with wide eyes which were no longer glazed, looking as if the world was about to end. Her jaw opened and closed but nothing came, and her arm was still half raised with a vial grasped tightly in the hand. Severus felt another twitch of his lips forcing its way out; this was the most comical thing he had seen since the Polyjuice accident several years ago, and ironically, she was at the root of both. As long as she didn't break anything, he now didn't care.

So he merely shot her his most lethal death glare and settled himself on a stool to read her notes. Through his hair, he could see the nonplussed expression on her face, which was the only part of her that had moved since freezing. Had she even taken a breath?

"Miss Granger," he said suddenly, "Breathe. I prefer not to deal with a corpse so early in the day."

She took two shallow breaths before stammering, "I-I'm sorry, sir! It was… I was…" She took another shallow breath and made another attempt, "I'm sorry!"

That was apparently the extent of her vocabulary at the moment, he thought with another wave of amusement. Looking up at her, he scowled, "I shall overlook your insolence this one time," he paused. "Do not let it happen again," he barked and then resumed reading as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

On the other hand, Hermione's mind had short-circuited, and it was taking quite a long time – minutes – to replace the parts and reboot. It was a relief that she had finished setting up before losing her brain, or something would have exploded before they even began.

Once she returned to the regained her focus, Hermione nervously watched Snape read through the list of ingredients, its effects, and her theories which she had compiled the night before. Some suggestions were logical – at least to her – and others could have been pulled out of Ron's arse – but also made sense to her. Now it was up to Snape to decide whether she had come up with something insightful or had lost her mind.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he procured a quill and red ink. _Was he grading the thing?_ He made slashes across something and circled something else and scribbled angry words on every clear space of parchment; the results didn't seem promising.

His head snapped up, and their eyes met. Hermione held her breath and waited as he appraised her.

"Miss Granger, several of the suggestions have merit," he said pointing to the parchment covered in his angry red slashes. "Prepare these."

Hermione gave a shaky smile and dashed to the storeroom.

Severus shook his head and stared at the girl's notes. He had no idea where she had found the time to come up with all of this between last night and this morning, but everything written was thoroughly researched. Many of her ideas were radical but logical while others looked as if they had been pulled out of Longbottom's arse.

Granger bustled back into the room with an armful of ingredients.

"Miss Granger, explain your theory of Blast-Ended Skrewt droppings and crystallized fluxweed," he said.

And the Testing Set Number Two continued with him asking questions and her explaining. He was impressed – reluctantly, of course – by the extent of her knowledge and creativity which many brewers lost through the years of following recipes.

They began the brewing, this time with him also handling two cauldrons. Between the two of them, they produced six out of fifteen of her ideas tweaked by him to ensure accuracy and safety. For Severus, it was a slightly awkward affair since he only had use of one arm, but he was a Potions Master and refused to be held back. After Granger bottled the last potion, they repeated the process of blocking off skin, applying each solution, and applying stimuli. By the end of the Testing, both were frustrated again by the lack of progress, but this time Granger didn't have anything else to add.

"It seems we are unable to develop a successful treatment to revitalize nerves," he stated.

She opened her mouth to protest, no doubt to babble about not knowing if they don't try or some other sentimental rubbish.

"Miss Granger," he said sharply before she made a single sound, "We have tried everything that is available to us, and the use of anything else is close to illegal." He felt hopelessness which he had not felt in years sweep through him and felt a powerful urge to destroy something – many somethings – but while she was in his presence, he had to remain in control. He hated himself for all the mistakes he made in his life, he hated the Dark Lord for existing, he hated Dumbledore for allowing him to atone for his mistakes, he hated the world which allowed such a war to occur, and he hated his parents for birthing him. He just wanted the pain to stop. He should have ripped out Granger's throat and left for Brazil…

As he stewed in self-loathing, Hermione eyed him sorrowfully and dragged herself to clear away the mess they made on the counter. She barely gathered enough will to move; Snape's multicolored arm sitting on the counter in front of her was a constant reminder of her failure to solve the problem. He stayed still with a blank face and empty eyes, waiting for her to complete the clean-up. The pristine laboratory – the Dream Room – didn't seem so wonderful anymore. It was more like a sterilized prison haunted by countless research studies that never reached fruition. This was the first time she had failed in something so critical, and if each failure produced the feelings she felt now, she would probably spiral into deep depression before the war was over.

Hermione carried each cluster of vials to the sink and was about to gather the last cluster when one vial slipped from her fingers. She hastily reached out to catch it but her attempt was thwarted by the vials already in her hands, and Snape, still in deep thought, didn't notice it until the vial had shattered on the counter, shards embedding into his arm.

"Sir, I'm sorry!" Hermione cried, scrambling to set down the vials and grab her wand. However, a piercing scream froze her before her hand even reached her sleeve. It was a shout of pain. Of _pain_. In his _left_ _arm_.

"Professor Snape!" She cried again. "Do you feel something? Professor!"

But he didn't seem to hear her, his scream becoming a guttural cry then groans, and he would have crumbled to the ground had he not been sitting.

Hermione suddenly knew what she needed to do.

She stuck his right arm onto the table, whipped out a clean sheet of parchment and quill and scribbled down everything. The vial, its composition, the shards, his pain, the skin, the flesh, the _Dark Mark_.

Gods, the key had been the Dark Mark, but that was the one section – the only section – they hadn't touched. If the situation wasn't so dire, she would have broken into mirthless laughter.

Finally, she set down her quill and removed the shards with her wand. There had been no reaction in the rest of the arm as observed during the prior diagnosis, but the skin and flesh around and under the Mark was red, angry and burning. Snape had stopped groaning and was now grinding his teeth with eyes squeezed shut and a light sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Professor, is there anything I can do?" Hermione asked loudly.

The only reply was a slight jerk of his head which she interpreted as a no. She didn't know whether to cheer or to panic; they finally attained the reaction they had toiled two days for, but it was accompanied by such horrific pain. Hermione grabbed a towel soaked in cool water and wiped away the sweat on his face. Was there really nothing she could do to relieve his pain?

Snape leaned his face into the towel, slowly unclenching his jaw and calming his breathing. A few moments later, the skin around his eyes relaxed and he blinked them open to look straight at her.

"Granger," he rasped, "Seems you've found the solution." A pain-filled half-smile formed on his face before he closed his eyes. "You're just full of irony," he chuckled a hacking cough.

She could only offer a weak grin as she continued cooling his face and neck.

Relief came ten minutes later when his shoulders relaxed and jaw unclenched. Severus drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Keeping his eyes closed, he furrowed his brow, and struggled to move his fingers. They only twitched, but a twitch was triumph. He used his right hand to stroke the left arm – his fingers, past the elbow, and to the scar line. He felt only feather light touches, but those were triumphs as well.

He finally opened his eyes and looked at Granger who was fidgeting next to him, her face wrought with worry. Severus couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.

"Granger," he said in a hoarse voice, "Congratulations."

A smile bloomed on her face. "Here, sir," she said while sliding a parchment across the counter, "I recorded the observations. It was Cluster Six with the Sea Dog scales! Maybe we can also try the other solutions – not the ones from yesterday but the potions from today. I think Cluster Four with the hippogriff saliva and bowtruckle droppings might work as well…"

"Miss Granger, do you ever turn off?" He cut off her rant.

"Yes, sir," she replied sheepishly.

"Good," he gave another half-smile, "Perhaps we should take a meal before plunging into another round of research." He groaned inwardly. _Damn, my brain must be really scrambled to say that and _smile_._

"Grumpi!" He called out.

An earsplitting crack announced the house-elf's entrance. "Yes, Master?" Grumpi asked with a glare.

"Prepare some lunch for us," Severus requested. "Miss Granger, will an assortment of sandwiches, clam chowder, and pumpkin juice be sufficient?"

As soon as Granger nodded, Grumpi disappeared with an even louder crack.

He visibly winced at the sound; it now felt like he was suffering a hangover, and that stupid creature wasn't helping.

"Sir, do house-elves usually travel that loudly?" She wondered out loud.

"No," Severus grunted through his growing headache, "A house-elf's crack gets louder as their mood sours, and Grumpi lives up to his name."

Grumpi appeared again with a crack louder than the first two, dumped the tray of food on the table, sneered, and cracked back out.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Unfortunately, he is one of the Snape family house-elves and works for me exclusively."

"Um… are you the one who named him, sir?" She asked quietly after a moment's hesitation.

He looked at her in amusement. "No, one of my nieces fell in love with the Muggle Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. She renamed seven house-elves after the seven dwarves," he cleared his throat. "The insufferable girl gifted him to me – or more like she forced him on me – around six years ago, and he has grumpily been with me since. I believe she thought us a perfect pair," he said drily.

Granger choked violently on the mouthful of pumpkin juice she had just taken.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until dinnertime that they finished brewing the second batch of her potions. Hermione adamantly refused to leave for dinner and insisted on staying to follow through to the end of the research, or at least end of the evening. She also noticed Snape was in a rather lenient mood that night, probably from the pain, and decided she would take full advantage of before he reverted to being a bastard.<p>

"Miss Granger, what are your theories on this effect?" He asked as they cleared a space on the counter. Hermione had healed the skin around the Dark Mark, and it seemed either his previous pain had disappeared, or he had incredible control over himself.

She looked at him apprehensively and answered, "In your observations on Voldemort's call, you concluded that the curse of the Dark Mark is attached to the nerves. If we use the Mark as an entry point, the treatment will spread through those nerves and regenerate them."

He nodded poured the first potion onto the first area which produced no reaction, the second resulted in a small twinge, and the reactions for the next three were miniscule. They finally reached the sixth and last vial – the one Hermione had dropped – and stopped all movement.

"Well, Miss Granger, it seems this may be the only solution," Snape said softly and had her heal his skin.

"Uh… sir?"

"What is it?"

"Perhaps it would be better if you were on a sofa or bed," she suggested. "The last time… well… this time will probably hurt more, and the ground…"

"Ah, yes. Follow me."

She followed him out of the lab, down the corridor, and through another blank painting. As dim light illuminated the space around them, Hermione's breath hitched at the sight. They had stepped into a spacious room decorated in beautiful steel blue and grey. In the center of the room were inviting armchairs and sofas surrounding a low center table of gorgeous dark heartwood. The arrangement was assembled in front of a magnificent fireplace which promised soothing warmth for tired joints, and unlike what she had seen of the dungeons excluding Snape's private lab, the stone walls here seemed welcoming rather than dank, its rough texture complementing the soft furniture and a thick, shag rug.

The room was the complete opposite of Snape's shabby sitting room upstairs which looked like part of a dilapidated house.

"Persephone's Drawing Room," Snape informed her. "For two thirds of the year, this room is decorated as such, but during the four months of summer, the room brightens and walls sprout lush vegetation as if Persephone has descended to the underworld."

"The dungeons as the underworld… Fitting," Hermione noted. "But isn't Persephone supposed to be the 'dread' Queen of the Underworld?"

"Ask the castle." He said simply.

Situating himself on a sofa, he removed his shoes and lifted his arm to rest on the sofa back.

Hermione's awkwardness at seeing him in a black waistcoat over a white shirt tucked into black trousers had only just dissipated, but seeing him without shoes shocked her – like she was an intruder in Snape's private life rather than merely the professional.

"Miss Granger, you are to empty the entire vial regardless of my reactions, and do not let anyone know of this," he reminded her. "Now, do it."

She hesitantly tipped the solution onto the Dark Mark.

As soon as the first drop hit the skin, Severus's arm began to convulse. His face twisted and only Occlumency and rigid control kept him upright long enough to absorb the entire solution.

It was more painful than his branding at initiation. It wrapped around the arm as if under a Cruciatus, then the pain spread within his flesh as if the flesh was on fire and burning. It was crawling. That was it. Crawling – like a thousand worms digging its way through the arm.

When he could hold himself upright no longer, he fell backwards across the sofa as part of a convulsion. As soon as his control slipped, a bone-chilling scream of nightmares tore out of his throat and echoed around the room. He fought it. Fought it like nothing else, but not even his mind could block out the crawling pain. He could imagine those worms escaping and entering the flesh through the pores of his skin. They wriggled holes and ate through flesh.

The crawling morphed into bubbling – like the blood was boiling lava inching through the veins, this time melting everything around it. The flesh melted and hardened, then melted again as lava flowed through in waves. The Mark pulsed, and now he imagined the lava flowing out of the tattoo and wrapping around the arm, first encasing his hand, and then moving upwards past his elbow and up to his shoulders. But it didn't stop there. It continued flowing, spreading from his shoulders up his neck and down his side. The melting and boiling.

Whenever the arm hit something – the sofa back? – sharp pain flared over the constant burning. Each time was like a direct hit on the head from a Bludger. He tried opening his eyes, and he swore he did physically but there was only darkness. Nothing. Blindness. He tried to stifle the screaming, but all he could do was tone it down to a strangled cry.

He couldn't feel the right side of his body anymore. His entire focus was on the pain, and it felt like he was half a person. Half of a dying person. No torture in his past amounted up to this. He wanted to beg for it to stop – beg them to stop torturing him – yet somehow he retained pride. But what good was pride when he was torturing himself?

The pain just wouldn't stop…

* * *

><p>Hermione watched the scene in horror as his piercing scream shot through her body. There was not a single part of his body which was not seizing. Even his toes clenched and unclenched violently under his socks. Redness had spread outward from the Dark Mark, crawling like a blush. Then under that reddened skin, the flesh began to bubble, like boils forming and subsiding rapidly, but this time the Boil-Cure Potions would not be of any use.<p>

She didn't know what to do. She conjured a wet towel to wipe his face, but at the first touch, he let out an even louder scream. She reared back in shock and dropped to the ground. Touch. He couldn't stand touch meaning she couldn't do anything at all.

No, there was one thing she could do. Hermione raised her wand and carefully transfigured away the sofa back. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would help.

She curled up on an armchair next to him and watched his screaming mouth and bulging eyes. She couldn't help but think that this was her fault. This pain was induced by her suggestion and her mistake. Sure, it was a solution, but if only she had thought harder and found an alternative, he wouldn't have to experience this torture.

She wanted it to stop, for his sake and for hers, but all she could do was watch and hope for the best.

An hour later, Snape's cries quieted to gasps and, his body calmed to twitches. He slowly turned his head in her direction, and she could see his glazed eyes slowly regain focus and take in his surroundings.

"Water," he whispered hoarsely, flinching from the pain in his throat.

"How are you feeling, sir?" Hermione asked quietly as she helped him take a sip.

"Like death."

He said nothing else until he drained the water.

Then, "Apply the second vial."

She stared at him in shock. "But, sir! You can't do this again!" She cried. "You will surely die this time."

"Now, Granger."

"Sir, what about tomorrow? Once you've recovered," she suggested desperately.

"No, it needs to be done now while it has not yet set," he whispered so softly that she barely heard his words.

They glared at each other, him with hardened stubbornness and her with anguish.

"You must."

After a long silence she slowly nodded, blinking back the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Her trembling hands uncorked the vial and raised it above his battered arm. She met his half-open eyes again for a final confirmation and dumped the liquid all at once.

Immediately, Snape convulsed violently. His attempts at screaming produced nothing louder than hoarse gasps; Hermione whimpered as she covered her ears to hide from the harsh sounds escaping his damaged throat. The agony in each sound he did manage was a jolt down her spine. Never before had she seen such agony and felt such despair.

But she never expected his silent screams to be even worse.

Again, Hermione could do nothing but watch over him.

_A/N: Am I getting too technical? I'm doing my homework with the HP world, but is it too much?_

_My dear readers, review!_


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